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April 7tiij 1893, 


Price, 25 Cents* 


The Pepular Series 

Issued Monthly. 


i 



AUD MORTON 

f MAJOR ALFRED R. CALHOUN. 


Single Numbers 25 Cents. 

Sn-bscriptiwit (12 Nos>) $3 per Amiuiyi. 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

NEW YORK. 


JE^ered at the Po^t New York, N. F., as iSacond Class Mail Matter. 


FOR ALMOST HALF A CENTURY 


The Leading Family Weekly: 

THE 

NEW YORK LEDGER. 


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4. A delightful ‘‘Woman^s Page,” giving useful information 
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^ MAUD MORTON 


21 Nouel. 


BY 



MAJOR ALFRED R. CALHOUN. 

»{ 




PUP, USHERS. 


THE POPULAR SERIES : ISSUED MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, THREE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 
APRIL 7. 1893. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 


COPYRIGHT, 1887, 1889 and 1893, 
By ROBKIIT BONNE R’8 SONS. 


(All rights reserved.) 


PUBLISHERS’ NOTICE. 


Maud Morton is one of Major Calhoun’s most 
popular stories. The heroine — though of honorable 
lineage and descended from opulent ancestors — by 
the strange vicissitudes of fortune, is left an orphan 
waif in the streets of New York, and grows up a 
child of the people. But she finds a manly, true- 
hearted lover and faithful protectors, who gain a 
clew to her parentage, and fight courageously for 
her rights against the powerful and unscrupulous 
enemies who strive to keep her out of her lawful 
heritage. The history of this struggle between 
love, integrity and truth, on one side, and hatred, 
avarice and fraud, on the other side, constitutes one 
of the most thrilling episodes of life in New York 
which the pen of the biographer or the novelist has 
ever depicted. 


TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Under the Snow 7 

IL Adopted 16 

III. A Missing Man Comes Unexpectedly on 

THE Scene 25 

IV. “The Old, Old Story” 34 

V. Donald Morton’s Secretary 43 

VI. The Secretary Begins His Campaign in 

Earnest 52 

VIL Coots Tells His Secret 60 

VIII. Maud’s Many Lovers 69 

IX. Preparing for the Burglars 76 

X. A Night Alarm 84 

XL What Followed the “Burglary’' 92 

XII. The Persecution Begins loi 

XIII. Increasing Trials Bravely Met 109 

XIV. Another Severe Blow 118 

XV. Coots Becomes Defiant, and — 125 

XVI. Exit Coots and Enter Chiswick 132 

XVII. Dark Days for Ned Rand 141 

XVHI. Maud's Temptation 149 

XIX. In Sore Straits 157 

XX. Donald Morton and Peter Gurly 165 


TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXL Was She to Blame? 175 

XXII. A Change 182 

XXIII. Still Plotting 189 

XXIV. A Terrible Blow 197 

XXV. Another Change 204 

XX VI. A New Firm 21 1 

XXVII. Donald Morton’s Wife 218 

XXVIII. The Conspiracy. 227 

XXIX. Chiswick and Gurly Make a Report . 235 

XXX. A Thunderbolt 243 

XXXI. In Court 250 

XXXII. A Desperate Move 259 

XXXIII. A Startling Revelation 266 

XXXIV. Life and Death 274 

XXXV. Hearts of Gold 287 


1 


i 


I 


j 


MAUD MORTON: 


A STORY OF TO-DAY. 


CHAPTER 1. 

~ UNDER THE SNOW. 

From the distance there came a clanging of beiis 
and the hoarse shouting of firemen. 

It was night, and the snow, dashed and whirled 
about by a fierce, cold wind, looked like crimson 
feathers in the red glow of the neighboring confla- 
gration. 

A night, if ever there was one, when the comforts 
of the humblest home would be sure to be appre- 
ciated, and when cozy rooms and warm firesides 
seemed to young and old the very acme of luxury. 

A lamp at a street corner, within a rifle shot of 
the City Hall, New York, flickered and roared, as 
if it were going out in a passion. 

In the brief intervals between the wind gusts, the 
light flashed into a doorway, set back from the side- 
walk, revealing two crouching, thinly-clad figures, 
one a woman and the other a little girl of seven or 
eightc 


8 


MAUD MORTON. 


The woman had the child half covered with an 
old plaid shawl, which the wind would have whirled 
away in its cruelly playful mood had not the atten- 
uated arms and thin, bloodless hands held it in 
place. 

Though the ravages of disease had made the 
woman’s face pale and wan, and the light of death 
glowed in her sunken eyes, there remained a profile 
of beauty and a certain indescribable air of refine- 
ment that told of a past, the memory of which must 
have intensified, if that were possible, the bitterness 
of the present. 

Though still some hours before midnight, this 
street, in which there were no dwelling houses, 
seemed deserted ; only the clanging of bells and the 
shouting of firemen, squares away, told that there 
were others out in the storm. 

I cannot sleep here, mamma ; let us go home 
where it is not so very, very cold,” said the child, 
raising her little, pinched face to the woman’s ago- 
nized eyes. 

We have no home, my pet,” sobbed the woman, 
as she pressed her thin, cold lips to the child’s cheek. 
‘‘ Poor and wretched as our room was for the last 
few months, still it was a shelter.” 

But why can’t we go there now, mamma?” 

1 could not pay the rent, my child, and the land- 
lord seized our furniture and turned us out. Home- 
less, friendless and sick, my darling, what is left us 
but to starve or beg?” Catching the child to her 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


9 


shrunken breast, the voi^ian continued, in a voice 
full of agony : 

Oh, merciful Providence ! has it come to this, 
that I, reared with such jealous care, am alone and 
friendless with my Maud in the city where once I 
had friends by thousands, and unstinted wealth at 
my command 

‘‘And are you hungry as well as cold, mamma?'' 
asked the child, her own feelings suggesting the 
question, 

“No, no! the hunger pain is past. Oh, darling! 
if I could die to save you ! 

The woman made as if she would clasp the child 
closer, but her arms weakened and dropped by her 
side, and her head fell back against the door. She 
had fainted. 

Alarmed for her mother, little Maud ran off to 
seek help, whither she knew not. 

As if impelled by anxiety fcr her child, the woman 
quickly recovered, and staggering to her feet, she 
took a few steps, and looked wildly about her. 

A man, clad in a fur coat and cap, stood on the 
curb, and, while he looked up and down, he mutter- 
ed, impatiently : 

“ 'Tis a fearful storm, and no hack or street car in 
sight." 

The woman came slowly forward to ask alms for 
the first time in her life. 

The man heard her step, and, as he faced her, 
the lamplight flashed down on his bold, cruel face. 


10 


MAUD MORTON. 


and, recognizing it, she tottered back, and cried 
out: V 

“ Oh, heaven ! Is Donald Morton here ? ’’ 

Who are you, woman ? gasped the man, his 
voice choking and his purple face showing his alarm. 

No wonder you fail to recognize the ragged, starv- 
ing widow of your dead brother. Look at me, Don- 
ald Morton, and think of the trust you have betrayed 
and the dependent whom you have defrauded,’’ she 
said, as she raised her thin, white arms to the 
storm. 

You are an impostor!” he hissed, and he made as 
if he would walk on, but she faced him. 

I am homeless and starving, and you are rich. 
Your brother — my husband — on his dying bed made 
you the executor of his will and the guardian of our 
little daughter. How have you kept your trust ? Y ou 
robbed us; and I, wishing to guard my dear hus- 
band’s family from reproach, have struggled on with 
my little one under an assumed name.” 

‘‘You’re a maniac!” he hissed. ^‘But even if you 
were Agnes Morton, you should know that I invest- 
ed all my brother’s wealth with your approval, and 
that it is lost, without leaving me any the richer.” 

“The man who would rob the widow and the or- 
phan,” said Agnes Morton, bitterly, “would not hesi- 
tate at a lie to conceal it. I demand my rights ! ” 

“Demand?” he sneened. “People who make de- 
mands should have the power to enforce them.” 
Then, with a cruel laugh, he added; “You do not 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


II 


impress me as being in a condition to do so at this 
time.” 

''I have a friend there!” cried Agnes Morton, 
pointing upward — the Father of the fatherless, 
the Eternal Friend of the poor, and the Champion of 
the wronged ! Crush me if you will, but through all 
your sleeping and waking keep in mind the words of 
Him who hath said, ‘Vengeance is mine; I will re- 
pay.’” 

Overcome by this exertion, the poor woman stag- 
gered into the doorway and fell. 

“She spoke of the child; I thought them both 
dead — ” 

Donald Morton’s soliloquy was brought to a sud- 
den end by the sound of voices and approaching 
footsteps, and he started off. 

The voices belonged to two young men whose 
dress and dinner-pails bespoke them mechanics who 
had been working over-hours. 

When they came in front of the doorway in which 
Agnes Morton lay, the younger and handsomer of 
the two called out: 

“ Hello, Dick. Here’s a poor woman that needs 
help.” 

“Pshaw! she’s drunk. Come along, Ned Rand; 
and if you don’t hurry we can’t catch the next car 
from the Hall,” said the other, walking on. 

“ If you can’t wait to do a human being a good 
turn, Dick Pipps,go home alone; I’ll stay,” said Ned 
Rand, setting down his pail, and lifting the uncon- 


12 


MAUD MORTON. 


scious woman into the protection of the doorway, 
while his late companion hurried out of sight. 

‘‘There ought to be a policeman round/' said Ned 
Rand, looking about him, “but they’re scarcer than 
steady work in hard times when they’re wanted.” 

“Where, where is my child ?” gasped the woman, 
as she opened her eyes and saw the stalwart young 
mechanic bending over her. 

“ I didn’t see any child, upon my word, and I hope, 
ma’am, that you are mistaken, for it is hard enough 
on grown folks to be out such a night. Can’t I help 
you to your home — ” 

The cry of little Maud, as she ran to her mother, 
abruptly ended Ned Rand’s speech. 

“ I could find no one to help us, mother,” said the 
child. 

“ Oh, what shall we do ? ” groaned the mother. 

“ See here, sissy. Tell me what’s up. Maybe I 
can help you,” said Ned Rand, as he took off his 
overcoat and wrapped it about the child. 

“We have nothing to eat, and the landlord turned 
us out,” said the child. 

Ned Rand expressed a desire to have “three min- 
utes’ private interview, with no officers around, with 
that landlord.” Then he took some change from his 
pocket and said : 

“ I’ll go halves with you, sissy. Keep this, and I’ll 
run off and see if I can get some help. It will never 
do to stay out such a night as this, and lots and lots 
of warm rooms in town. I’ll be back in a moment.” 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


13 


The fall of Ned Rand’s feet was still audible when 
Agnes Morton made the child sit down beside her. 

Then, taking a chain and locket from her own neck, 
she whispered as she placed it about that of the 
child : 

'' Your dead father’s gift to me, Maud. The locket 
contains his picture and mine. It is all that is left 
from the wreck. Keep it. Oh, God, protect my 
little one. Pray, pray for us, Maud !” 

The child seemed to realize that a crisis had come. 

With a cry of alarm, she dropped on her knees, 
and clasped the hands that were like ice to the touch. 

Oh, Father in Heaven,” prayed the little one, 
‘‘spare my mother. She is all that is left. Oh, 
mother, mother, speak to me ! Speak !’' 

There was no reply. 

The telegraphic wires overhead sang a solemn 
dirge as little Maud pressed for the last time the lips 
that were never to speak again. 

While this sad scene was being enacted, Donald 
Morton, accompanied by a stout man of rougher 
cast, and warmly but coarsely dressed, came back 
and stood at the opposite side of the street. 

“ Fortune favors us. Coots,” said Donald Morton, 
addressing his companion. “ There she is, and the 
child is with her.” 

“ There she is, and from there she’ll never move of 
her own account,” said the man addressed as 
“ Coots.” 

“ What do you mean 


MAUD MORTON. 


14 

I mean the woman's dead, an’ the kid looks as ii 
she wasn’t long for this world,” said Coots, speaking 
in a hoarse, rasping voice. 

If the woman is dead, then there is so much 
trovible saved. I will give you the same sum I of- 
fered for both, if you provide for the child. Do you 
understand. Coots ? ” 

Oh, I understand,” said Coots. 

And he drew his hand across his throat, which 
emitted a gurgling sound. 

‘‘This job well done, you will never want for a 
friend while I have a dollar to spare. Now I will leave 
youo Call at my office in the morning, and let me 
know how you got along.” 

Having said this, Morton turned and hurried 
away. 

“ I’ve been wanting to get into partnership with 
you for some time,” muttered Coots, as he looked 
after Morton’s retreating form. “You’re rich, my 
friend, and can afford to divvy with me.” 

“Oh, sir, help my poor mother,” cried Maud, as 
she saw Coots coming across the street. 

“ I’ll help you,” said Coots. 

And he lifted the child in his arms and came under 
the light. 

“Hello! What’s this? A gold chain and a locket!” 

He opened the locket — it was shaped like a heart 
of gold — and looked at the pictures. 

“I’ll take this and keep it for you,” he said. 

He was about to take the chain from the child’s 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


15 

neck, when she sprang from his arms with a cry of 
alarm. 

''Come back, or 111 get mad,’' he said. 

And he ran and seized her by the shoulder. 

"Get back, or some one elsell get mad too!” 
shouted Ned Rand, as with a well-planted blow he 
knocked Coots down and took the child in his arms. 

"Coots, you thief, I’ve got you at last,” said a 
policeman, who had come back with Ned. "Stay 
here for a few minutes, Mr. Rand, till I run this fel- 
low in, and 111 come back with an ambulance for the 
woman and her child.” 

The officer put a pair of handcuffs on Coots, and 
started off with him at a run. 


MAUD MORTON. 


26 


CHAPTER II. 


ADOPTED. 


The body of the dead woman was taken to the | 
police' station, and Ned Rand told how he had met 
her and the child. ^ 

“We will hold an inquest on the woman in the ? 
morning," said the officer in charge, “and will turn J 
over the child to the officers of Charity and Cor* | 
rection." ^ 

“See here, Captain, said Ned Rand, as he took 
off his hat, and pushed back the brown ripples from 
his white forehead, “ I am not a rich man, but, as you i] 
know, I am able to care for myself and my mother, i 
as well as the next man. Now, this little one hast: 
taken hold of my heart, and I can care for her, too, 
without any trouble. I somehow feel, you see, as if 
it was a duty." 

don’t know of any man, Ned, who has a higher 
sense of duty than yourself. Take the child home 
with you to-night, and come down in the morning 
and well talk it over. I guess you can have your 
own way in this," said the Captain of Police. 


“ And," whispered Ned, as he pointed to the forr 
that lay covered with a blanket on a bench near by| 
“ while she was only a stranger to me, and was going 


ADOPTED. 


17 


when she asked me to help her, now that she's gone, 
111 see that she isn’t sent to the Potter’s Field.” 

‘‘All right, Ned. I wish there were a few more 
men in the world like you,” said the Captain; “it’d 
be a better place to live in.” 

Ned Rand could not have been over one-and- 
twenty ; indeed, his smoothly shaven face gave him 
even a more youthful appearance ; but the tall form, 
the easy movements of the body, and the light in 
the bright hazel eyes, bespoke him every inch a 
man. 

“Now, little sister,” said Ned, as he fastened his 
overcoat about the child till only her gray eyes and 
her clustering yellow hair were visible, “we’ll go 
home.” 

“But mamma,” said the child. 

“ Hush ! she is resting ; you must not disturb her 
now. Don’t be a bit afraid. Call me ‘Ned,’ if you 
want anything; and here we go.” 

Ned folded the child in his arms, nodded to the 
officers, who in their hearts were blessing the noble 
fellow, and strode out into the storm, as if nature 
had designed him to combat with the opposition of 
! men and the fury of the elements. 

With the aid of a street car Ned made his way to 
a narrow, dimly-lit street to the east of that point 
; where Fourth Avenue meets the world-famed Bow- 
1 ery. 

The houses were very high, and the many lights 
|i gleaming up and down told that they were inhabited, 


i8 


MAUD MORTON. 


and the people wide awake, for it was not yet ten 
o’clock. 

About the middle of the block Ned let himself " 
into a house by means of a dead-latch key. 

A light burning in the hall revealed a board hang^ 
ing behind the door, on which were the names of 
the tenants of the building, with the floors and the ; 
number of the rooms they occupied. 

The instant Ned’s step was heard at the head of 
the stairs the door of the second-story front room 
was opened, and a fine-looking, hazel-eyed woman of , 
about forty ran out, exclaiming: 

Why, my dear boy, I have been in agony waiting 5 
for you ! ” Then seeing the bundle — Maud was hid- ^ 
den and asleep in the coat — she asked : 

What have you there ? ” ^ 

‘‘ It is this that kept me so late,” said Ned. Come '*5 
in,” here he bent down and kissed his mother, “ and 
I’ll show you what I’ve picked up.” - 

‘'A poor, blessed, pretty, starved child!” cried j 
Mrs. Rand, as her son laid the sleeping Maud on a,i 
sofa in a little room where the table was set for sup/ 
per. Where did you find her ? ” 

In a few words Ned told all about it, and ended! 
by saying: We’re not very rich, mother, but if 
hope you don’t blame me.” 

Blame you — ” Mrs. Rand did not finish the sen® 
tence, but she did show how she looked at her son’! 
conduct by throwing her arms about his neck an<^ 
kissing him. 




ADOPTED. 19 

What's the child’s name?" asked Mrs. Rand, as 
she began arranging the table for three. 

Maud." 

But her last name ?’' 

Don’t think she’s got any." 

Oh, yes, Ned ; every one has, or should have, a 
last name." 

I guess you’re right, mother ; but I did not learn 
hers. By the way, wouldn’t it be just as well to call 
her Maud Rand ? It sounds pretty good, I think." 

Mrs. Rand looked up at the ceiling, as if weighing 
the matter, and then nodded her head to indicate her 
approval of the suggestion. 

When supper was ready, Mrs. Rand took the fam- 
ished little form up in her arms, and Maud was kissed 
into wakefulness. 

Mamma," said the child, wonderingly. 

Yes; I’ll be a mamma to you. Come, here is 
some good supper, and then I shall put you into a 
nice, warm bed, and you’ll be another child in the 
morning," said Mrs. Rand. 

The sight of the steaming food banished every 
other feeling for the time; and had it not been for 
Mrs. Rand’s watchfulness, the poor little one would 
have injured herself by eating too much. 

Maud was put to J3ed, and the mother and son sat 
up till late discussing the situation. 

The next morning Maud was so sick that she had 
to have a doctor; and Ned Rand went off to attend 
the inquest, and to go, as the only mourner, to the 


20 


MAUD MORTON. 


funeral of the poor woman, the expenses of which 
he bore himself. 

At the coroner’s inquest the verdict was given, 

Died of consumption.” 

Here Ned learned from the officers that Coots, 
who had been arrested the night before, was a noted 
criminal who had recently escaped from Sing Sing 
penitentiary, whither he had been returned that 
morning to serve out the remainder of his sentence. 

Ned did only a half day’s work that day, but the 
other half was not thrown away, for he had buried 
the mother, and received from the court an order 
constituting him the guardian of the child so provi- 
dentially thrown in his way. 

Manfully, and with a constant effort to fulfill to his 
best the sacred trust imposed on him, Ned Rand 
cared for his ward. 

In this he was ably seconded by his mother, who 
soon grew to look upon the child as flesh of her 
flesh and bone of her bone.” 

They changed to a new home after a time, and 
every one came to believe that Maud Rand was 
Ned’s sister. 

Our limited space will not permit us to recount 
the joy Maud brought to that household, nor the 
eagerness with which Ned worked that she might be 
well educated, if not accomplished. 

He was a maker of wall-paper, and he had studied 
so hard, and displayed so much energy and ability 
that after ten years he was the superintendent of ar 


ADOPTED. 


2 I 

immense establishment, in the upper part of the city, 
owned by a very rich banker and manufacturer 
named Donald Morton. 

Everyone wondered why Ned Rand did not marry. 

He was thirty -one years of age, a strikingly hand- 
some man, with quiet, gentle ways, and in the re- 
ceipt of wages that would warrant him in taking a 
wife. 

Some said that he would never marry as long as 
his mother — still a hale woman in middle life — lived. 

Others were very sure that Ned would take a wife 
as soon as his beautiful sister Maud was married, and 
they were very certain that this event could not be 
long delayed, for bachelors, rich and poor, courted 
her, the favorite one — the one whom she and Ned 
liked best — being Edgar Moore, a well connected, 
rising young lawyer. 

There were a few very quiet people, who had 
known Ned a long time and were therefore familiar 
with Maud’s relations to the family, if not with her 
origin, who whispered among themselves : 

“ Mr. Rand is not too old for Maud. She must 
remember all about that night. What could be more 
proper than that they should marry ?” 

The man who would have been most interested in 
this suggestion never heard it. 

Had he harbored any such thought for a moment, 
his high sense of duty would have driven it from his 
mind. 

Yet, as Maud bloomed into a rarely beautiful and 


22 


MAUD MORTON. 


radiant womanhood, Mrs. Rand, with a mother’s 
loving intuition, imagined that she saw a change in 
her son. 

It had been his custom to romp and play with 
Maud when he came home from work. 

On holidays they would ramble beyond the city’s 
limits and come home laden with wild flowers from 
the woods. 

Or, as her wonderful artistic talent developed, 
they would spend happy hours drawing and design- 
ing together, and in all her studies he took a part. 

But now his powerful frame trembled when she 
sang, and his color would come and go when she 
suddenly appeared, or when she kissed him, as was 
her habit at his coming and his going. 

All this the mother saw, and it troubled her. She 
felt that on the one side there was rising above the 
love of the guardian and the brother the all-absorb- 
ing love of the man; while with Maud there remain- 
ed the steady unwavering affection of the sister. 

More than this, Mrs. Rand saw that Maud looked 
for the visits of Edgar Moore, the handsome young 
lawyer ; that her face grew brighter at his coming ; 
and that she delighted to talk about him, and would 
blush when his name was jokingly mentioned in con- 
nection with her own. 

It would be a mistake to infer from this that Maud 
was either wanting in appreciation and affection or 
trivial in her conduct. The following incident fur- 
nishes the best proof of this. 


ADOPTED. 


23 


She had made a number of designs for rich wall- 
paper, and these she sent to the factory without 
Ned’s knowledge. 

To her great joy all were accepted, and a check 
for a handsome sum was sent her, made payable to 
the name she had assumed. This check was accom- 
panied by a note asking her to call at Donald Mor- 
ton's office in the paper factory, where a position 
would be tendered her at a good salary. 

Delighted with her success, Maud gave the letter 
and check to Ned, who laughed and said : 

'' It is no surprise to me to learn that you could do 
acceptable work ; but as I make enough and to spare, 
I can see no need of your adding to the family 
wages.'* 

Brother, that is just where you and I differ,” said 
Maud, coming behind him and putting her arms about 
his neck. There, if you don't let me speak, I shall 
hold my hands over your mustache. It has got so 
heavy I can’t feel your mouth any more.’* 

Go on, Maud ; I shall be quiet,” he said. 

Have you not often told me,” she said, coming 
round and facing him, that the happiest people are 
those who work ?” 

Yes, Maud.” 

And that work is pleasanter when it is conge- 
nial ?” 

To be sure,” he said. 

‘‘ And still pleasanter when it is rewarded ?” 

Very true.” 


24 


MAUD MORTON. 


^‘Now, I am old enough to earn my own living; 
work is offered me that you have trained me for ; 
and I am told that if I do it well, I shall be well paid. 
Only think, Ned, of the pleasure it will give me to 
be a chum and a fellow-workman oi yours. We can 
go off every morning in high spirits, and come home 
as happy as you please. Mother has a good girl, 
thanks to you, to help about the house ; so in being 
more useful I shall not be so much missed.” She 
bent forward and kissed him. And then, Ned, when 
you and I have saved up a lot more money, we car? 
clear the mortgage on this cottage. W on't that be 
grand?” she asked joyously. - 

Ned raised objections, but they were so weak as 
to go down at once before her eager arguments. 

At length he said : 

‘‘ All right, if the mother consents; I shall take 
you to the office to-morrow and introduce you as 
the successful young artist for whom the head of the 
firm has sent.” 

The very next morning Ned took Maud to the 
great factory, where Donald Morton, as ignorant of 
her identity as she was of his, engaged his niece as a 
designer. 


A MISSING MAN COMES UNEXPECTEDLY ON THE SCENE. 25 


CHAPTER in. 

A MISSING MAN COMES UNEXPECTEDLY ON THE SCENE, 

Donald Morton was now a man of eight-and-forty; 
he had a florid face, a thick neck, a sensual mouth, 
and little gray eyes, made smaller by drooping eye- 
lids. 

Mr. Morton was a widower; he had been married 
when a very young man, but his wife, it was said, 
died within the year. 

His acquaintances wondered why a man so rich, 
and living in such grand style, should continue un- 
married. 

With Donald Morton, wealth might be said to 
cover a multitude of deformities. In appearance he 
was a most unattractive man. 

It was generally conceded that his moral charac- 
ter was far from high ; and it was strongly suspected 
that his conduct in acquiring his possessions would 
not bear investigation; yet there were ambitious 
mammas, who, to use a society phrase, ^Hiterally 
flung their daughters at the rich man’s head.” 

Morton had a palatial city house and a grand villa 
on the Hudson. He had fine horses to whirl him 
over the roads, and a fine yacht to bear him over the 
billows. Servants by the dozen, and employees by 


26 


MAUD MORTON, 


the hundred, stood ready to anticipate his wants, or 
to do his bidding. 

Surely he ought to have been happy, but it is very 
certain that he was not. 

His ey'^s were hid and his face was florid; and he 
had a habit of looking quickly about him, as if fear- 
ful of being watched or followed, 

Ned Rand was very proud of his adopted sister; 
this was shown when he took her to Donald Mor 
ton’s office and introduced her with the remark: 

‘H knew that my sister could do good work, but I 
had no idea that she was trying to secure a place 
here as a designer, till she showed me your letter 
and the check.'' 

‘'Ah, I am glad to see you. Miss Rand," said Mor- 
ton, bowing and changing color. 

Where had he seen that face before? No doubt 
he had passed the beautiful girl on the street with 
her brother. 

“ I did not want Maud to take the place, but she 
likes the work and insisted," continued Ned, anxious 
to show his employer that there was no necessity for 
his sister’s seeking employment. 

“I admire Miss Rand’s spirit," said Donald Mor- 
ton, his self-confidence returning, as he noted more 
particularly the perfect form and exquisite features 
of the girl. “We are all the better for having con- 
genial employment, and I hope she will like the 
place." 

“And I sincerely hope the place will like me," 


A MISSING MAN COMES UNEXPECTEDLY ON THE SCENE. 27 

said Maud, with a most becoming blush at her own 
boldness. I shall certainly try to do my best.” 

A good sentiment,” said Morton, with a highly 
moral manner. I am sure we shall get alorig. In 
the letter offering you the situation, I stated the 
salary ; if that is satisfactory. Miss Rand, your 
brother will show you to the designing-room and 
you can go to work at once.” 

Maud indicated that the salary was entirely satis- 
factory, and bowing to her employer, she was con- 
ducted by Ned to the room devoted to designing. 

Donald Morton sat down to write; but, do what 
he would, he could not drive Maud s face from his 
mind. 

He had never been affected in this way before. 
He could not explain his feelings to himself. He 
was given to spasmodic bursts of admiration for the 
other sex, but he had never tried to deceive 4iimself 
into thinking that he could fall in love at this late 
day. 

He was drawn irresistibly to the girl, and at the 
same time he thought of her with something like 
dread. 

Several times during the two hours he spent at 
the office that morning he left his desk and walked to 
a point from which, through the glass inclosure, he 
could see Maud Rand as she bent over her work. 

He had so many interests now that he could give 
only a short time to each during the day. T wo hours 
at the great wall-paper factory ; then he would be 


28 


MAUD MORTON. 


whirled down to his W all street bank in his coupe ; and 
the rest of the day would be spent with mining, 
railroad or steamboat magnates, for every new enter- 
prise was eager to have connected with it the name 
of the rich, lucky man. 

He left the factory at the usual hour to-day, tak- 
ing a last look at Maud before he descended to the 
street, and the sweet face of the young artist bend- 
ing over her work haunted him in his sleeping and 
his waking till he returned the next morning. 

It had not been his habit to seek out his employees 
and ask after their health; he rather held himself 
aloof; but this morning he was at Maud's side before 
he went to his own desk. And the clerks, who saw 
him, interchanged winks and significant glances; and 
one, bolder than the rest, whispered : 

‘‘The old man is struck." 

Donald Morton, in his private office, had finished 
up the work for the day, and was thinking about 
going down to Wall street, when he became aware 
that a man had entered and was standing beside him. 

At first he thought he was a clerk, and paid no 
heed ; but as nothing was said, he looked up angrily, 
and at the same time asked : 

“ W ell, sir. What is it ? " 

The man beside him was roughly clad, heavily 
bearded, and of about his own age. There was a 
self-assurance in his manner that the other’s bluffness 
did not disconcert. Reaching out his hand in greet- 
ing, he said, as he sat down : 


A MISSING MAN COMES UNEXPECTEDLY ON THE SCENE. 29 

Hello, Morton, you don’t seem to remember 
me? ” 

I certainly do not,” replied Morton ; and there 
was that in his bearing and tones that said plainer 
than words : And I do not care about making any 

such new acquaintanceSo” 

Oh, come,” said the other, apparently enjoying 
the rich man’s anger, don’t say you’ve forgot 
Coots/' 

Coots ! ” exclaimed Morton, 

‘‘The same, identical, old Coots,” laughed the new- 
comer, 

“ I — thought you were dead ! ” 

“And no doubt, old friend, the thought was the 
child of the wish. But here I am, in good health, 
but broke as usual.” 

“I thought you went West, after—” 

Donald Morton stopped, checked by the thought 
he was about to utter, but his purple face, and the 
tremor of his hands, and the wormy twitching of the 
thousand little lines about his eyes, told that this 
meeting had not put him in a happy frame of mind. 

“After I got out of the jug, you would say. Out 
with it. Don’t mind me. I’m not a bit sensitive. 
Used to be sensitive away back, when I began the 
work for which you often hired me ; but familiarity 
breeds indifference.” 

“ I am sure I sent you money to take you to Aus- 
tralia,” said Morton, lowering his voice and glancing 
nervously about him. 


MAUD MORTON.. 


•30 

So you did ; and you’d have doubled the amount, 
if you were sure it would take me to the devil. 
Well, I did go to Australia ; but it got too lively for 
me out there. • The authorities did not fancy my 
business. I didn’t run a bank or a paper-factory; 
but the enterprises I was a head director in became so 
unsafe that I thought it best to come home and see 
my friends. Many of them are dead or in the peni- 
tentiary ; but you are well and — prospering.” 

Yes, Coots, and very busy,” said Morton, moving 
uneasily.. 

'‘Well, I’m not busy. Once I was thought indus- 
trious, and I meant to be, but when I got in with you, 
Donald Morton, you showed me how money could 
be made without hard work, and so I became a gen- 
tleman of leisure. What matters it, between pals, if 
one wins and the other loses? Shouldn’t they stand 
by each other? Have you forgot that saying about 
honor between what-you-call-ums, eh, my friend?” 

" I have no time to talk to you now ; you must ex- 
cuse me,” said Morton, rising and reaching for his 
hat. 

"Oh! I can wait,” sneered Coots. "I am in no 
hurry; but I want money before you leave,” 

" Money ! ” 

" Yes, money ; the best and truest friend a man can 
have. You have lots of it ; I am poor. Come,” and 
Coots winked and turned one of his pockets inside 
out. 

" I cannot help you further.” 


A MISSING MAN COMES UNEXPECTEDLY ON THE SCENE. 3 1 

‘^ril bet you five dollars that you can, and another 
five dollars that you will. Oh ! I am in no hurry, 
ril follow you down to your bank — ain’t ashamed to 
ride with your driver. I helped you to all this 
wealth, but while I don’t expect you to make a square 
divvy, I must live.” 

Hush ! ” whispered Morton, again sitting down. 

‘‘ I sha’n’t say many more words, but I must have 
a hundred dollars to day. And let me whisper this.” 
Here Coots sank his voice, and bending over, con- 
tinued, with startling deliberation : That girl is still 
alive, and I know where she is.” 

'Ht s a lie! ” hissed Morton, holding back the hun- 
dred dollars he was about to hand to Coots. 

Eagerly snatching the money and cramming it into 
his pocket, the latter said : 

“Defy me to prove my words.” 

But Donald Morton did not defy the man. 

He saw that he was in this fellow’s power, and he 
made up his mind to humor him till he could get 
him safely out of the way. 

“We can see about this again, Coots. You must 
excuse me now. Here is my city address; come to 
my house, and let us talk over old times at our 
leisure.” 

To this Coots consented, and Morton went down 
town. 

After this Coots called frequently at the paper 
factory, as often when Donald Morton was not in as 
when he was. 


32 


MAUD MORTON. 


In this way he became known to Ned Rand and 
all the employees, none of whom liked him. 

He would spend an hour at a time in the designing- 
room watching the artists at work, and expressing 
his delight at their skill. 

He had often spoken to Maud about her work; 
and one day, noticing that a heart-shaped locket of 
gold, fastened about her neck by a chain of the same 
metal, had escaped and rested on the table, he said : 

“ Excuse me. Miss Rand, but I should like to look 
at that locket. Beautiful idea that — a heart of gold. 

'' I never take it from my neck,” she said, holding 
up the locket and opening it. 

“ Great heaven ! But no ; excuse me, miss,” stam- 
mered Coots. I was startled by the resemblance 
of those faces to people I saw in Australia years 
ago.”' 

“ My father and mother were never there,” replied 
Maud. 

'' No; I suppose not,” he said, thoughtfully strok- 
ing his stubby chin. Then, after a quizzical look at 
her face, he added : Oh, of course not. I used to 
know Ned Rand’s father years and years ago. But 
he’s dead, isn’t he?” 

Yes,” replied Maud, trying to go on with her 
work. 

And that there lady,” continued Coots, with a 
motion of his thumb toward the concealed locket, 
“she don’t look like Ned Rand’s mother. Saw her 
only the other day.” 


A MISSING MAN COMES UNEXPECTEDLY ON THE SCENE. 33 

“ She is only my adopted mother,” Maud managed 
to say. 

Ah, indeed ! Oh, yes, to be sure ; only just your 
adopted mother. Ought to’ve seed that for myself ; 
for though both very handsome, you and Ned — beg 
your pardihg : Mr. Rand — don't look the least scrimp- 
tion alike. Guess they’re blood relations of yours, 
though ?” 

Maud shook her head, but made no other reply, 
for the man disgusted and annoyed her. 

“ Hate to bother you, miss,” persisted Coots, '‘but 
of course you can’t have no objections to telling an 
old fellow like me what was yer father’s name. You 
see I’m a great friend of the boss’s. Donald Mor- 
ton an’ me was boys at the same time.” 

“You must excuse me, sir,” said Maud, with a re- 
serve that made not the slightest impression on the 
other, “ but I do not care to discuss my affairs with 
you.” 

“No; I suppose not,” chuckled Coots, “I ain’t 
the kind of a feller that handsome young ladies cares 
to talk with. But, bless you, if I was free to talk 
about yer family, I could tell you things that’d inter- 
est you more’n anything you ever heard in your 
whole life. But I ain’t the man to intrude where I 
ain’t wanted,” And with a bob of his head, intended 
for a bow, he turned on his heel and left with an ex- 
pression of triumph on his brutal face. 


34 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE OLD, OLD STORY.” 

It was not till the fall of the ex-convict’s heavy 
footsteps had died out, and he had disappeared from 
sight, that Maud Rand dared to look up from the 
work in which she had been assuming an interest 
while he stood beside her. 

When he was gone she took out the locket, and 
after opening the lids and looking lovingly on the 
faces again, she placed it back inside the dainty bit 
of lace that encircled her fair white throat. 

For some minutes she sat thinking of what Coots 
had said, and wondering why his coarse face should 
suddenly seem so familiar to her-r— and in connection 
with that locket. 

As she sat there pondering, suddenl}^ all the mists 
that enshrouded the nearly forgotten past seemed to 
rise and vanish. 

Again she stood beside her mother, and saw her 
dying in the drifting snow. 

Again she felt this man. Coots, lifting her up in 
his strong arms, and carrying her to the neighboring 
lamp, where his greedy eyes caught sight of the 
chain, and, after opening the locket, he tried to tear 
it from her neck. 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


35 


a 

Vividly she now recalled the welcome appearance 
of Ned Rand, and the policeman coming to the 
rescue ; the one to carry Coots off, the other to 
wrap his coat about her, and bear her away in his 
arms. 

All this was as distinct to her mind as if it had just 
happened, and she had to press her hands to her 
eyes and look about her again to make sure of her 
surroundings. 

For the first time in many years a great pain came 
to her heart, and it was destined to remain there for 
many a day to come. 

As if to complete the parallel between the past 
and the present, she saw the manly form and hand- 
some face of her adopted brother near by. The 
instant Ned’s eyes fell on Maud he noticed her pallor, 
and said : ^ 

“ Why, dear sister, you are not well. I feared this 
confinement would tell on you.” 

''I am feeling very well,” she said; ‘'but that man 
has just startled me.” 

“ What did he say?” 

“He wished to look at my locket; said it was a 
funny shape, and asked to see the inside. But it was 
not that so much as his appearance. I do not like 
him.” And then seeing that Ned, with a serious ex- 
pression, looked in the direction Coots had taken, 
she added : “But he is going; let him go. There, I 
feel all right again. What do you think of this vine 
and trellis ? ” 


36 


MAUD MORTON. 


She pointed to the drawing before her, and looked 
laughingly up at Ned. 

It is very good — very good,” he said. 

He raised his hand as if he would lay it on her 
head and stroke her yellow hair approvingly, as had 
been his habit in the near past, but he checked him- 
self in the act, and turned away to hide the blush it 
brought to his cheeks. Soon after this incident 
Coots left the factory, where he was not again seen 
for over a week ; but had he been there every hour 
he could not have been more on Ned’s mind. 

A dozen times a day he put to himself the query : 
‘AVhere have I met that fellow before?” without 
being able to find a satisfactory reply. 

Ned Rand, with his mother and adopted sister, 
lived in a vine-covered cdttage in t he upper part of 
New York city, to which outsiders give the general 
name ‘‘ Harlem,” but which is known to the residents 
of that airy and aquatic suburb as “ Mount Morris.” 

This had been a happy home, and its occupants 
were a standing proof that neither wealth nor leisure 
is essential to the perfect enjoyment of life. 

A few evenings after Maud’s brief talk with Coots, 
and when it seemed that the incident had fled her 
mind, though such was not the case, Edgar Moore, 
of whom mention has been made, called at the cot- 
tage. 

This was not unusual ; for nearly a year Edgar had 
been a constant and, we might add truthfully, a wel- 
come visitor. 


.37 


‘‘the old, old story.” 

He was a handsome young man of twenty-five. 
He had graduated at Yale, and received a diploma 
as a bachelor of law from Columbia College. 

He was the only child of rich and aristocratic 
parents ; but was neither elated by riches nor spoiled 
by indulgence. 

As one of Donald Morton’s attorneys, he had, on 
one occasion a year before this, visited Ned Rand’s 
cottage. There he met Maud ; and on his part, at 
least, it was a case of love at first sight. 

If Edgar Moore’s pride in the beautiful girl had 
been as great as his love, he would not have kept the 
attachment a secret frorri his parents. 

If Edgar Moore had been a young man of fine 
sensibilities he might have guessed at Ned Rand’s 
secret and held back till assured of his own suc- 
cess. 

But love is proverbially blind and indisputably 
selfish. The one object of its existence is success. 

Perhaps we should make Ned Rand’s love an ex- 
ception ; but then in this, as in nearly everything 
else, Ned Rand was an exceptional man. If he had 
not been such, he would not have crushed down 
the feeling that was mastering his life, nor could he 
have welcomed the young lawyer, as he did, even 
for Maud’s sake. 

“My boy,” said Mrs. Rand, as she sat in the vine- 
covered porch with her son and watched Maud and 
Edgar Moore going down the grassy bank for a row 
on the moonlit river, “what is to be the end of this?” 


38 


MAUD MORTON. 


'' The end of what, mother?” he replied. 

“ Of young Moore's wooing.” 

Happiness for Maud and for him, I hope.” 

Ned, you are not yet thirty-one, and Maud is 
about nineteen.” 

‘‘What of that?” he asked, quickly. 

“ Nothing, save i:hat you are not too old. She is 
full of gratitude ; and if you let me tell her your 
secret, she would not say ‘ no.’ ” 

“ My secret ! ” he repeated. 

“ Yes, my boy ; the first secret you ever tried to 
keep from me. But the mother’s eyes are ever quick 
to discover what tortures her child. Ned, you love 
that girl, and that love will either curse or bless all 
your coming years. Be the brave man that you ever 
were, and tell her all — ” 

“ Mother ! mother ! ” interrupted Ned, with a half- 
suppressed cry, “ do not talk in that way. The night 
I brought that little one home from the arms of her 
dead mother, I made a vow to heaven that I should 
care for and protect her with my life. If I have 
come to love her, that is my fault, not hers. The 
feeling is unjust to my better nature, and I shall 
crush it out, though it kills me. My love shall never 
be a bar to her happiness. It shall never be said that 
my years of devotion were prompted by a selfish 
object. There ! There ! Do not be provoked with 
me, dearest and best of mothers. Let the subject 
drop.” 

Ned Rand kissed his mother and entered the cot- 


THE OLD, OLD STORY/ 


39 


tage, but in doing so he saw the boat, with its light- 
hearted occupants, drifting like a great bird over the 
silvery path made by the round white moon. 

While not unconscious of his splendid physique 
and handsome, expressive face, Ned Rand felt that 
Maud must be drawn to one nearer her own age, and 
more closely allied to her by culture and natural 
aptitude. Such a person he believed Edgar Moore 
to be. 

And Edgar Moore, drifting down with the moon- 
lit tide, had much the same feeling. 

The moonlight, that makes even an ordinary face 
attractive, fell upon Maud’s uplifted countenance, 
till the young man thought her the most angelic 
creature on whom his eyes had ever rested. 

“ It is heaven to be here,” he said, speaking his 
thoughts, rather than with any idea of getting a re- 
sponse. 

“ It is a lovely night,” was Maud’s comment. 

“ It would, indeed, be a gloomy night that your 
presence did not brighten,” said Edgar Moore, bend- 
ing forward till he could look into her eyes. 

I suppose it is the correct thing to feel thankful, 
or at least to express thanks, for such a compliment ; 
but, really, you must excuse me, Mr. Moore.” And 
Maud’s silvery laugh thrilled from the young man’s 
ears to his heart. 

I know,” he said, with a sudden seriousness, ‘‘that 
such compliments are too often empty ; and perhaps 
I should not have imitated the manner of a man of 


40 


MAUD MORTON. 


the world in addressing you. But, Maud, the time 
has come when I must speak ; when from your lips 
I must learn the best or the worst that life has in 
store for me.’’ 

He paused and looked at her. 

She made no response, but gazed down at the rip- 
ple ma^'e in the water by the tips of her tapering 
fingers. 

Edgar Moore was profoundly moved. 

His face was pale. He had taken off his hat, so 
revealing the open, tremulous lips, the eager eyes 
and quivering nostrils. 

Suddenly bending forward, he caught her left hand 
from the seat, and said, in a deep, passion-laden voice: 

‘‘ Maud ! Maud ! I love you more than I do my 
soul !” 

He 'could feel her hand trembling like a caged dove 
in his eager clasp ; but after a gentle effort to free it, 
she let him raise it to his lips, then said, with a calm- 
ness that told of a feeling more profound, if less im- 
petuous, than his own : 

“ I am unschooled in the ways of society, so that I 
cannot pretend that your declaration is a surprise ; 
yet before you made it, it might have been better if 
you knew more about me.” 

'H know all I care to know,” he said quickly. 
‘‘ The only thing more I care to learn is that you 
love me.’' 

‘‘ I might answer that question now. Yet I shall 
not. I first must speak to you of two things.” 


41 


THE OLD, OLD STORY.^’ 

Of two things, Maud ?’' 

Yes ; about your family and mine.” 

I know your family, and you shall know mine,” 
he said. 

Looking down at her hand, which again was rip- 
pling the water, Maud continued : • 

“ You should know that I am neither Mrs. Rand s 
daughter nor Ned’s sister — though no relationship 
could make them dearer to me. I do not know my 
own age ; but when I was six or seven years old — I 
remember the time as if it was yesterday — Ned 
Rand found me and my dying mother outcasts in the 
streets. It was a cold, snowy night, and he wrapped 
me in his overcoat and took me to his home. My 
mother died that night, and I never saw her again.” 

Ned Rand is a noble fellow,” said Edgar, evi- 
dently startled by Maud’s revelation. 

^‘No words can express my brother’s merits. To 
me earth holds no nobler, braver man. But I was 
going to say that it is better you should know all 
about me, and tell the same to your father and 
mother. Tell them that I do not even own a name, 
but that it is borrowed from my adopted mother and 
brother. Tell them that I work for my living, and 
am proud of it. And, above all, tell them that what- 
ever I am, I owe to my brother. Do this, Edgar, and 
let me know what your father and mother say, or 
rather tell my brother what they say, then come for 
my answer ; but, till then, I must beg you not to say 
another word to me on this subject.” 


42 


MAUD MORTON. 


By this time the boat had drifted a half mile below 
the cottage. 

I shall try to do as you wish,’' said Edgar Moore, 
hoarsely. And he stroked his brow, which was 
damp, but not with the dampness of heat. 

He took up the oars and rowed back, but not 
another word was spoken till the landing was reached, 
by which time a heavy black cloud had drifted across 
the face of the moon. 


DONALD Morton’s secretary. 


43 


CHAPTER V. 

DONALD Morton’s secretary. 

Up to the return of Coots from Australia, Don- 
ald Morton felt secure, if not comfortable, in the 
thought that the wife and child of his dead brother 
were forever out of the way. He had no doubt as 
to the death of the woman, and as he had paid Coots 
to get rid of the child, he felt sure that it had been 
done. 

Long years of undisturbed prosperity, added to 
an utter want of conscience, had made him indiffer- 
ent to, if not wholly forgetful of, the existence of the 
man whom he had found so useful. 

He was not ready to believe Coots’ hint that the 
girl was still living ; indeed, he was firmly convinced 
of the opposite, yet the fact that the wretch affirmed 
that he had not earned his money by making away 
with the child made Morton very unhappy. 

Clearly, his own safety lay in getting Coots to tell 
where the girl was, and then to get rid of him. 

How to do this puzzled him. He dared not at- 
tempt the work unaided ; but when such a man has 
not his tools ready to hand, he usually knows how 
to get them. 

Donald Morton had a confidential clerk or private 


44 


MAUD MORTON. 


secretary named Homer Chiswick. This young man 
lived with his employer, and might be said to be 
his most intimate friend. 

Homer Chiswick claimed to be an Englishman. 
He was about twenty-six years of age, with black 
hair and eyes, and dark features, which some thought 
wonderfully handsome. 

His appearance and quiet, cat-like movements 
made him conspicuous on the streets, where, by the 
way, he was but seldom seen in the daytime. 

He was a man varied attainments; and as his 
employer was wholly lacking in culture, Homer 
Chiswick’s talents were used for business by day 
and to add to his employer’s amusement at other 
times. 

‘'Are you going out to-night, Chiswick ?” asked 
Morton, as his secretary pushed his chair back from 
the table, after a seven o’clock dinner. 

“ No, sir, if you wish me to remain in.” 

“Yes; I want to have a chat with you in the 
library. We can talk and smoke.” 

“ I shall be most happy, sir,” said Chiswick, rising 
and bowing. 

The library was a splendid apartment, with its 
carved book-cases, fine pictures, statues and artistic 
bric-a-brac. Morton did not know much about such 
things, but as other rich men had them, he felt that 
they were essential to respectability, even if they 
gratified no want. 

Seated in big chairs, upholstered in leather, Don- 


DONALD MORTON’S SECRETARY. 


45 


aid Morton and his secretary lit their Havana cigars, 
and faced .each other from opposite sides of the 
library table. 

Chiswick looked respectfully expectant at his em- 
ployer, whose heavy, florid face showed that he had 
something on his mind which he would get rid of as 
soon as he had hit upon a proper plan. 

After a pause, which was getting painful, Morton 
coughed and said, somewhat huskily : 

Let me see, Chiswick — how long have you been 
with me ? ” 

‘'Three years, sir, less two months,” replied Chis- 
wick promptly. 

" And you have been pleased with your place ? ” 

" I’d have been hard to suit if I wasn’t, sir.” 

" I have tried to treat you well.” 

" As you do every one, sir,” interrupted Chiswick. 

" I’m afraid every one does not think about that as 
you do — ” 

"Every one cannot live with you and learn to 
know you so well as I do,” said the young man ad- 
miringly. 

" Perhaps not, Chiswick. But to come to the 
point, I believe I can trust you ; I know it will be 
well worth your while to be faithful to me,” said 
Morton, laying his cigar on a little bronze salver, 
and turning his full face to his secretary. 

" It may be, sir, that you, who know the world so 
well, would not believe me, if I were to tell you that 
my fidelity to you is not wholly prompted by the 


46 


MAUD MORTON. 


salary you pay me/' said Chiswick, imitating his em- 
ployer as to the cigar. 

‘‘Yes, Chiswick, if I did not think that you were 
more faithful than most men, our social and business 
relations would hardly be so intimate. But, here- 
tofore, you have only carried out my orders ; to- 
night I come to you for advice — ” 

“You honor me, sir; but if there can be any ques- 
tion about which yo 2 i could have a doubt, it would 
be sheer folly for me to attempt to set you right.” 

“ Still, there are questions, particularly where the 
heart is involved, where the wisest man may be the 
very worst judge as to what is best to be done.” This 
was said somewhat condescendingly ; then he added, 
with an attempt at laughter: “ Fm afraid Fm in love.” 

“ In love, sir ! ” exclaimed Chiswick. 

“Yes. I believe that’s what they call it when a 
gentleman has a certain lady so much on his mind 
that he cannot think of anything else. But here’s 
the first trouble : I must be at least twenty or thirty 
years older.” 

“Then she must be a child, sir; for you don’t look 
more than thirty-five. I don’t say this to flatter you, 
for 1 have heard many others say the same thing. 
Besides which, Mr. Morton, years do not count w‘th 
gentlemen who, in addition to being favored with 
what is called masculine beauty, have also fortune 
behind them,” said Chiswick, looking from the 
pleased face of his employer to the rich appoint- 
ments of the library. 


DONALD Morton's secretary. 


47 


Fortune should count for something,” resumed 
Morton, with a smile that said plainer than words — 
“Fortune counts for everything; it stands for youth, 
talent, culture, beauty and conscience.” 

“Particularly, sir,” said Chiswick, “if the lady 
have only youth and beauty on her side.” 

“ That is just the case here, Chiswick. The young 
lady is an artist employed at my paper factory. She 
is the sister of my superintendent.” 

“Mr. Rand?” 

“Yes; he is a fine fellow. But do you think my 
choice would cause any talk — I mean any unpleasant 
comment in what we call ‘ the world ’ ? ” 

“ Surely no unpleasant comment. People of sense 
would approve your independence. Even the more 
romant c would say: ^Here is a man who could in- 
crease his fortune by choosing a rich wife, but he 
prefers to marry for love.’ As to the lady, sir, I have 
seen her, and, if you will permit me to make a com- 
ment — ” 

Chiswick hesitated, and Morton nodded for him to 
proceed. 

“Pd say, sir, that if there is a more beautiful 
young lady in face and form in the city of New 
York, or in any other city that I ever visited, I 
never saw her face nor her picture.” 

“Then you do not think Pd be acting foolish in 
marrying Miss Rand?” 

“ On the contrary, sir, you’d be giving an addi- 
tional proof of your wisdom.” 


48 


Maud MORXOisr. 


Thank you, Chiswick. Y our opinion agrees with 
mine,’' said Morton, as he relit his cigar. 

It will be noticed that nothing was said by either 
master or man as to the young lady’s consent. Both 
took that for granted. What poor girl could dream 
of refusing the hand of her rich employer ? 

Through the smoke rising from their cigars the 
men looked at each other. 

It was evident to Chiswick that Morton had not 
unbosomed himself of everything about which he 
wanted advice. 

After a silence of some moments, the latter said : 

“You would hardly think that when I was a young 
man I was a bit wild.” 

“ No, sir; I could never think that,” said the syco- 
phant. 

“ I was wild, but never intentionally wicked. But 
when I was a young, generous fellow, I took upon 
myself the blame of many things to save my 
friends.” 

“ That would be just like you, sir.” 

“ And so,” continued Morton, “ I foolishly placed 
myself in the power of an unprincipled fellow named 
Coots. The man was afterward in the penitentiary, 
and I lost sight of him for years, during which I sup- 
posed him dead ; but he has turned up to plague 
me, and, between us, he is blackmailing me. Now, 
what would you do in such a case ? ” 

“ Gentlemen don’t care about arresting such a fel- 
low and^facing him in a court, where the papers will 


DONALD MORTON'S SECRETARY. 


49 


publish his lies as if they were truth, and too many 
will be ready to believe them.” 

''Of course not, Chiswick. You see the point just 
as I do.” 

" And if such a wretch is bribed to leave, why, it 
is only getting a respite till he has exhausted his 
money.” 

"That’s the case, Chiswick.” 

"To me,” continued Chiswick, "the life of such a 
man is not nearly so precious or sacred as the life of 
a mad dog. Why should a creature like that be per- 
mitted to curse a man like you, when for a few hun- 
dred dollars another creature like himself can be 
hired to put him out of the way ? ” 

" Do you think you could arrange that for me, 
Chiswick? ” asked Morton, extending his hand across 
the table as if asking for help. 

" I do, sir.” 

"And you are willing to help me?” 

"Not only willing, but anxious,” said Chiswick, 
seizing his employer’s hand and pressing it to show 
his devotion. 

" If you can have this fellow removed forever, Chis- 
wick, it will be the most profitable stroke of work you 
ever did. He will be at the factory in the mornirig. 
Trail him down; give all your time to him, if need 
be; and come to me for whatever money you want. 
Do you understand me ? ” 

"As clearly as I understand the multiplication 
table. Nothing more need be said till I am ready 


50 


MAUD MORTON. 


to report. I shall draw on you for whatever cash 
may be needed.” 

You can have all you want.” 

‘‘And, sir, if I can show my devotion in this way, 
I shall be happy.” 

With this understanding master and man parted 
for the night. 

Morton felt that a great load had been taken from 
his mind. He had faith in his tool. In his eagerness 
to be rid of Coots, he never dreamt that he could be 
placing his fate in the hands of a man whose audacity, 
intelligence, and utter want of principle made him a 
genius in those ways of crime wherein Coots, with 
his brutality and clumsy methods, was only a blun- 
dering bungler. 

After this interview, Donald Morton went down 
to his club, but Homer Chiswick remained in the 
library pretending to read, but in reality thinking 
over a subject that was anything but literary. 

Mrs. Belton, the gray-haired, comely housekeeper, 
came in abou: ten o’clock to have a chat, as was her 
habit, with the young secretary. 

Already Chiswick had learned all that the old lady 
could tell him about her employer’s past life ; but to- 
night he adroitly questioned her again, trying, if 
possible, to get a clew to Coots’s secret ; but she 
knew nothing about Donald Morton that was not 
commendable, except that she had a woman’s natural 
antipathy to men who can marry and will not. 

Mrs. Belton had a pretty little niece named Annie, 


DONALD MORTON'S SECRETARY. 51 

who often visited her, and between whom and the 
handsome young secretary the old lady was anxious 
to get up a match. 

She spoke about Annie Belton to-night ; but the 
secretary, though treating her with a cat-like soft- 
ness that implied interest, was thinking, by turns, 
of another young lady and of a man whose acquaint- 
ance he was planning to make. 

Even after Homer Chiswick went to bed he could 
not sleep. 

His employer’s confidence had opened up to him 
vast vistas of success, among which was the possi- 
bility that he might take the place of Coots, and use 
it to so much advantage as to make himself the mas- 
ter instead of the servant. 

For long hours he perfected his scheme. 

He fully made up his mind to get rid of Coots. 

^^But,” he reasoned, to put this Coots out of the 
way, without learning his secret, would be much 
like sinking in the depths of the ocean a heavy wal- 
let, the contents of which may be ot untold value. 
I shall empty him before throwing him overboard.” 

From this it will be seen, as is usually the case 
under such circumstances, that Donald Morton, in 
attempting to get out of the frying pan, deliberately 
leaped into a very hot fire. 


52 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE SECRETARY BEGINS HIS CAMPAIGN IN EARNEST. 

Within full sight of Ned Rand’s beautiful cottage 
there was a large cluster of shanties, where beer and 
more fiery liquors were kept for sale, and near by 
there were huts built on floating scows, around the 
sides of which were strips of painted canvas bearing 
the legends : “ Boats to hire by day or hour,” Fish- 
ing tackle and bait always on hand,” Fresh beer 
on tap,” Neptune Refreshment House.” 

The latter inscription floated from a flag-staff at- 
tached to a structure that looked like a cross between 
a railroader’s shanty and a Noah’s ark. It was built 
on a raft, which raft was chained to a green, slimy 
spile, though as it was only afloat when the tides 
and winds raised the waters of the Harlem, about 
the season of the fall or spring equinox, the precau- 
tion of the chain seemed unnecessary. 

At the end of this raft, toward the stream, a num- 
ber of row boats were fastened. 

The Neptune House was owned by Mrs. Wogley, 
and the duty of keeping it in order devolved on a 
stout, wholesome-looking daughter of twenty, who 
was known to the amateur boatmen far and near as 
“ Polly, the water nymph.” 


THE SECRETARY BEGINS HIS CAMPAIGN IN EARNEST. 53 

The row boats were owned and hired out by 
'‘Push” Wogley, the son and brother of the above- 
mentioned women. 

Push Wogley was a stout, thick-necked young 
athlete of two or three-and-twenty, with little gray 
eyes, and a broken nose that detracted somewhat 
from his personal beauty. 

Though picturesquely housed, these three people 
would be scarcely worth the introduction, were it 
not that Mrs. Wogley was the wife and the son and 
daughter the children of Coots, the ex-convict. 

With a dim notion that it would be better for her 
children and herself not to be known as “ Cootseses,” 
Mrs. Wogley, even before her husband’s conviction, 
retained her maiden name, and insisted that her chil- 
dren should share the same with her — an arrange- 
ment wholty agreeable to Coots, who had no pride 
or choice in such matters. 

Our interest in this strange family must be further 
increased by the fact that Polly Wogley was over 
head and ears in love with our good friend Ned 
Rand. 

The fact that Ned not only had not encouraged 
this sentiment, but was entirely ignorant of its exist- 
ence, did not deter Polly from nursing it. She wor- 
shiped her hero from a respectful distance, and took 
no pains to hide her feelings from her mother and 
brother. 

The Neptune Refreshment House consisted — be- 
sides the awning-covered space devoted to boating 


54 


MAUD MORTON. 


parties — of a good-sized family room and kitchen, 
and three little cubby holes, known respectively as 
‘‘mom’s,” “siss’s,” and “Bud’s” bedrooms. 

Mrs. Wogley had long believed herself to be a 
widow, and it need not be said that this fact never 
caused her children nor herself a tear nor a pang of 
pain. So when Coots came home, after an absence 
of many years, his welcome could hardly be called 
ardent or even civil. 

But when Coots appeared a few days afterward 
and gave each of his children ten dollars and his wife 
twenty, with the promise of “lots more when that 
ran out,” his family became more demonstrative in 
their attentions, if not actually more affectionate. 

Ned Rand had a boat of his own, in which he often 
took a pull in the evening when home in time, and it 
was on these excursions that Polly saw and fell in 
love with him, after her fashion. 

While rowing one evening, Ned was not a little 
surprised to see Coots on the Neptune House float, 
and with him Homer Chiswick. 

Ned recalled that he had not seen the latter about 
the factory of late, and, as he had never liked him, 
he rather hoped that the fellow was discharged. 

When he reached the cottage — where he found 
Maud and Edgar Moore on the porch — he told about 
Chiswick; and young Moore said: 

“I know the gentleman.” 

“ And what do you know about him ? ” asked Ned. 

“ That he is as well educated as he is handsome 


THE SECRETARY BEGINS HIS CAMPAIGN IN EARNEST. 55 

and mysterious; and that is saying a great deal,” was 
the laughing reply. 

'' It is said that people at sea can tell the approach 
6i an iceberg,” said Maud, “ by the lowering of the 
temperature ; in the same Avay I can tell if that man 
is about. And as to his being handsome, why, that 
is a matter of taste.” 

Upon my word, I am glad he is not to your taste,” 
said Edgar, with another laugh. “ He is not the kind 
of man I should care to have for a rival.” 

And yet, in spite of her dislike, as we shall see, 
this man, Homer Chiswick, was destined to become 
a rival and to win a mysterious influence over the 
beautiful girl that neither she nor even himself 
dreamt of at the time. 

Chiswick had tact, address, cunning, and a won- 
derful knowledge of the ignorant and criminal 
classes. 

These qualities enabled him to get into Coots’s 
confidence at once. 

Like all his class. Coots was shrewd and sus- 
picious; so that it is doubtful if he would have placed 
any reliance on Chiswick had he believed that that 
young man still remained in the employ of Donald 
Morton. 

The first confidential meeting of these two men 
was in a resort of thieves in the lower part of the 
city ; and there, after they had drank and smoked 
for some time, Chiswick told how he had been dis- 
missed that morning without any warning. 


56 


MAUD MORTON. 


IVe been faithful to that man, Mr. Coots,’' he 
said, with great secrecy of manner, '^and I’ve done 
things for him that no one else would do ; yet at the 
very time when I need money the most he throws 
me off without a day’s warning.” 

And didn’t he give no reason? ” asked Coots. 

Only that he thought I was getting to know too 
much about his affairs,” replied Chiswick. 

I know more about his affairs than you do, yet 
he can’t chuck me off in that way,” said Coots, with 
an oath and a savage display of his big teeth. 

“ It would be better for me if I knew less or had 
known more,” sighed Chiswick. 

Ah, if I only had your eddycation,” said Coots, 
with a loud smack of his heavy lips, “then,” here he 
held up his immense hand and slowly closed the fin- 
gers ill they cracked as if they were crushing some- 
thing, “ I’d have Donald Morton like that; then I’d 
be the master; then I’d have bank accounts an’ fine 
horses, an’ yachts, an’ carriages; then I’d be the boss, 
an’ he’d take his orders from me.” 

“You are a bright fellow. Cools ; and as for edu- 
cation, why, you have enough. Still, if you think 
my education could be of any use to you, I am yours 
to command, for I don’t mind saying that I like you, 
and I have liked you since I first saw you.” 

Here the two men shook hands, and more liquor 
and cigars were ordered. 

Chiswick was working on a plan. 

He knew that if he showed any curiosity as to 


THE SECRETARY BEGINS HIS CAMPAIGN IN EARNEST. 57 

Coots’s secret, that fellow would draw back, if, 
indeed, he did not suspect his purpose. 

The best way to win confidence is to first become 
confidential. 

At the second meeting with Coots, Chiswick pre- 
tended to be much under the influence of liquor. 
He vowed his regard for his new friend, and he 
showed his faith by telling, after many pledges to 
secrecy, the story of his own life. 

As he gave it, it was a record of daring crime, in 
which his education and coolness helped him. 

Though quite capable of the deeds of which he 
claimed to be the hero, it is safe to say that these 
particular exploits were the creatures of his own 
fertile fancy. 

The result was as he had expected. 

Coots proposed that they should work together, 
and to this Chiswick agreed. 

^‘But,” said Coots, when this bargain was made, 
'' Donald Morton, he’s my private game ; an’ while 
I’m willin’ to help you along with what I get from 
him you can’t expect for me to give you the drop I 
have on him.” 

^‘Certainly not. Coots,” said Chiswick; ‘'but I’m 
in hopes that after a bit you’ll have faith enough in 
me to let me help you. I want to get even with that 
man, and I will, if I have to wait for years.” 

Chiswick had a key that admitted him to his em- 
ployer’s house, and he appeared there, always at a 
late hour of the night, to report progress. 


MAUD MORTON. 


S8 


He cheered Morton with the belief that he would 
soon have Coots either dead or in the penitentiary 
for life. 

At such times Morton was always anxious to hear 
all that Coots said. His object was to learn if Chis- 
wick had any clew to his secret ; and Chiswick, 
shrewdly seeing through his motive, told him only 
what he was sure would please him. 

It was a great evidence of confidence for Coots to 
invite the man he now called his ^‘chum” to visit his 
family at the Neptune Refreshment House. 

As an additional inducement for Chiswick to ac- 
company him Coots said : 

'H’ve got a daughter that the boatmen call 'Polly 
the water nymph,’ an’ if there’s any finer-looking gal 
— except one, as is my own particklar gal, an’ she 
don’t live far away — I’d like to have her trotted out 
and put through her paces before proper judges.” 

" If she is at all like her father, she must be an ex- 
cellent young lady,” said the diplomatic Chiswick. 

And it was on the occasion of this first visit that 
Ned Rand saw Chiswick on the Neptune House 
float, and while he was surprised at the sight, he 
could not see, without the gift of prophecy, the 
effect that the meeting of these two men at this 
place was to have on his own life, and particularly 
upon the life of one who was dearer to him than all 
the world besides. 

Mrs. Wogley did not meet Chiswick very gracious- 
ly. Although the wife of a thief, she aimed to do 


THE SECRETARY BEGINS HIS CAMPAIGN IN EARNEST. 59 

as near Tight and to walk as near straight as her 
rough life-path and dim light permitted. 

Push Wogley tookto Chiswick at once. Push had 
all his father’s mental and moral characteristics. 

Polly was very much like her mother, even in her 
regard for the visitor whom she was to know so 
well. 

That night, after the rest of the family had retired. 
Coots and Chiswick sat in the main room of the 
Neptune House, with a bottle between them. 

The lamp burned low, and the splashing and moan- 
ing of the tide could be heard outside. 

Coots had been drinking heavily; still he spoke in 
cautious whispers. 

^^The time has come, ole chum,” he said, about 
midnight, when I think I can trust you with all.” 

‘‘And if I deceive you,” replied Chiswick, with a 
vigorous handshake, “ may I be shot and then hang- 
ed and beheaded.” 


6o 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER VIL 

COOTS TELLS HIS SECRET. 

Even when Coots had determined to take Homer 
Chiswick into what he called pardnership,” by re- 
vealing to him the secret of his control over Donald 
Morton, he hesitated again and again as if doubt and 
faith, confidence and suspicion, were struggling in 
his heart. 

He felt that, with Chiswick for an ally, he could 
control Morton to his liking; and as he firmly be- 
lieved Chiswick’s story and his professions of hate, 
he had every reason for the confidence he finally de- 
cided to give. 

But as an additional safeguard, though the act 
must strike the reader as a strange travesty in a 
sacred form, he made Chiswick raise his hand and 
swear that he would keep the secret from all the 
world '' under the penalty of dying like a dog if he 
played false.” 

Chiswick swore to this, as he would have sworn to 
anything, if necessary to accomplish his purpose. 

And mind you,” added Coots, with an awful oath, 
“if you ever go back on me. I’ll kill you as if you 
was a mad dog.” 

“ And I shall deserve to die,” said Chiswick. 


COOTS TELLS HIS SECRET. 


6i 

Little did either of them think at that moment of 
the terrible consequences that were to follow this 
secret, and the oath intended to keep it from passing* 
to the knowledge of another. 

With a- little table between them, on which was a 
candle, a bottle, two glasses, and a bundle of cigars. 
Coots, in a hoarse whisper, told the black story of 
his own life. 

He thought it better to do this that Chiswick 
might see just how he came to know Donald Mor- 
ton and to learn the secret of his wickedness. 

As Coots had but little sense of right left, he made 
no effort to appear better than he was, nor did he 
offer any other excuse than the money he obtained, 
for acts the narration of which would have filled with 
horror a less sensitive man than Homer Chiswick. 

‘‘There,” said Coots, as in conclusion he drained 
his glass, “that’s the hold I’ve got on Donald Mor- 
ton, and he can’t shake it off to save his soul.” 

“It’s a good hold,” said Chiswick, thoughtfully, 
“but to my thinking it isn’t as strong as it might be. 
You see, if Morton wasn’t a coward, he could defy 
you to prove what you say ; then where would you 
be ? ” 

“ I’d be on top every time.” 

“ Perhaps I might think as you do, if I knew where 
this girl was to be found,” said Chiswick. 

So far Coots had not mentioned his discovery of 
Maud ; and the other was naturally very anxious to 
learn all about it. 


62 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘'Well,” replied Coots, again reaching out his 
hand, “ I’ve told you everything except that gal’s 
name an’ where she’s to be found ; an’ I don’t see 
why I shouldn’t 1 ^ the hide go with the hoofs and 
horns and tell you all.” 

“ The oath I made you at first, old friend, will 
cover everything 3^011 ma}^ tell me now or in the fu- 
ture,” said Chiswick, still holding the other’s hand 
and pressing it to show his high regard. 

In a low whisper, as 'if he were alarmed at the 
importance of his own secret. Coots told all he knew 
of his own knowledge and all he had learned about 
Maud Rand. 

In conclusion he said: 

“ She’s the gal that shoula nave all that wealth, 
an’ I know it, an’ Donald Morton he knows that I 
know it ; an’ he’s got the papers somewhere to prove 
it. Ah, if I could only get at them, an’ knew how 
to use them after I’d got my hands on ’em. I’d make 
him dance till he fell down dead.” 

“I think,” said Chiswick, after a thoughtful pause, 
“ that I know where Morton keeps all his private 
papers ; and it might be, if you had the nerve to tiy 
it, that we could get at them.” 

“ I have the nerve to try anything, if you’ll only 
stand by me like a true pal.” 

“Till death,” replied Chiswick. 

Again they shook hands, as if this pledge were 
essential at every new phase of their scheme. 

It was now past midnight. 


COOTS TELLS HIS SECRET. 6 ^ 

Coots, who had been drinking freely while ridding 
himself of his profitable secret, was quite drunk. 

He fell to the floor in an attempt to rise, and his 
son Push, hearing the noise, came out and led him 
in to bed. 

Chiswick left the Neptune House, and with his 
hat pulled down and his coat collar turned up, for 
the night air was raw, he hastened in the direction 
of Murray Hill, in which aristocratic quarter was 
the stately abode of his master. 

Of his master? Well, Donald Morton had been 
his master, but the young man, with his heart full of 
an unholy ambition and his active brain full of Coots’s 
astounding revelations, felt that he was now the mas- 
ter. 

Pie rejoiced in the consciousness of the power this 
secret gave him, as a young giant rejoices in his 
strength. 

He would first ascertain, so far as was possible, 
the truth of Coots’s story. He would find and ex- 
amine all Morton’s private papers. And when he 
could prove the truth, as he believed it, he would 
then win Maud Rand’s hand at all hazards, demand 
justice in the name of his wife, and so become a hero 
to the romantic, and a man of wealth and power to 
the great majority who care only for such things. 

Late though it was when he reached home, he 
found Morton up and waiting for him. 

“You’ve been making anight of it,” was Morton’s 
salutation. 


64 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘‘I couldn’t get away sooner, sir,” said Chiswick, 
with that deference which distinguished his manner 
when talking to his employer. 

“ And what luck ? ” 

‘‘Well, sir. I’ve nearly given up all hope of find- 
ing a man to do for Coots, at least at this time, and 
I understand that you want him out of the way as 
soon as possible ? ” 

“ The wretch cannot be put out of the way too 
soon,” hissed Morton. 

“ If, sir, you could have him sent to the peniten- 
tiary for the rest of his natural life, wouldn’t that do 
nearly as well?” asked Chiswick. 

“ It would have to do, if nothing better could be 
done. I am depending on you, Chiswick.” 

“Then why not leave the whole matter to 
me ? ” 

“I am willing to do so, but I do not want to be 
left in the dark. Now, you just spoke about sending 
this fellow to the penitentiary. How do you pro- 
pose to manage that? ” 

“Easily enough. You know Coots believes I hate 
you, and that I am his sworn friend.” 

“So you told me; but if he were so much your 
friend, he would tell you all about the hold he claims 
to have *on me,” said Morton, trying to read the 
young man’s dark, impassive face. 

“You have told me, sir, and so I have made no 
effort to pump him, though I will confess I should 
have no hope of getting anything out of him. But 


COOTS TELLS HIS SECRET. 65 

as to putting him behind the bars, why, I should get 
him to rob this house — ” 

To rob this house ! exclaimed Morton. 

‘'Yes, sir, or at least to try it and be caught in the 
act. Then, if he should disclose anything about you, 
why, every one would say that the wretch who tried 
to plunder you would not hesitate to lie about you 
when justice defeated his plans.” 

“True, true,” said Morton. “You have a long 
head, Chiswick. Think this matter over carefully. 
I leave it entirely in your hands, but do not make 
any important move without letting me know.” 

Chiswick promised to consult his master at every 
step, and with this understanding the men went to 
their beds just as the silvery bell of the ormolu clock 
on the mantel struck two. 

Chiswick had no further use for Coots. 

He was now as anxious to have him out of the 
way as was his employer. 

Rethought the matter over all night; and, as he 
was now the master of his own time, he made up his 
mind, before taking another step, to remain at home 
that day and examine Donald Morton’s private 
papers. 

These were in a secret drawer in a safe that was 
set in one end of the library wall. 

He had the combination of the safe, and, as he 
frequently spent days working alone in the library, 
nothing that he might do there now in the way of 
examining papers could possibly excite the suspicion 


66 


MAUD MORTONo 


of Mrs. Belton, the housekeeper, or of any of the 
servants. 

In addition to his wonderful coolness and rare in- 
telligence, Homer Chiswick was a man of method. 

While firmly believing Coots’s story about Maud 
Rand, he fully realised that this story, if unsupported, 
would make only the flimsiest kind of evidence in a 
court of justice. 

There must be proof in existence, at least; if there 
was not, he determined to know it. 

He would begin at the very beginning, keeping a 
strict record of every step he took until certain vic- 
tory or defeat confronted him. 

He had set himself a great task, but he had that 
self-confidence which distinguishes energy corribined 
with intelligence. 

Nor was this all he had set himself to do. He 
must hold his influence over Coots til! he got him 
out of the way ; and he must get acquainted with 
Maud Rand, and throw the spell of his strange mag- 
netism about her. 

It is a peculiarity of executive genius that when 
it does not find circumstances to its liking, it creates 
circumstances to further its ends. 

Chiswick soon found out that Maud Rand was in 
the habit of rowing two or three times a week on 
the Harlem River^ with Edgar Moore. 

Without being observed, he watched them for 
several evenings from the protection of the Neptune 
House sitting-room. 


COOTS TELLS HIS SECRET. 


67 


From these observations he became convinced that 
there was a great deal of love on young Moore’s 
side, but that Maud’s feelings for him were of the 
romantic rather than the real kind. 

While watching the young people in the boat he 
made up his mind to secure an introduction to Maud 
after an heroic fashion. 

He found in Push Wogley, who had become one 
of his warmest admirers, a faithful ally in this work. 

^'Push,” he said, one evening, ‘H’d give twenty 
dollars in cash if that boat, with those two young 
people on board, could be made to upset some even- 
ing this week, right in front of the Neptune House.” 

‘H can have it done for that money,” said Push. 
“ But, mind you, Mr. Chiswick, I won’t let neither of 
’em get drowned. That’d never do.” 

<^Nor do I want either of them to be drowned. I 
want you to leap in and seize the man. Even if he 
can swim, you must keep him away from the young 
lady,” said Chiswick. 

But you don’t want the purty gal to drown ?” 

^'No, Push. I propose to save her myself.” 

‘'Oh, I see!” exclaimed Push, with a knowing 
winko 

Three evenings after this Edgar Moore and Maud 
were out rowing again. 

It was growing dark, and thej^ were returning, 
against the wind and tide, to the landing below Ned 
Rand’s cottageo 

Suddenly, from the cluster of shanties and floats 


68 


MAUD MORTON. 


of which the Neptune House wus the center, a heavy 
barge, rowed by two men, shot out. 

Edgar Moore was not a skillful oarsman. He was 
out of the channel. He heard Maud’s shriek and 
the shout of the men in the barge, but in his effort 
to avoid the collision he brought his boat broadside 
on to the bow of the heavier craft. 

In an instant the boat turned, and Maud and her 
dazed escort were flung into the tide. 

‘^Save the man, Push,” shouted Chiswick, as he 
threw away his hat and flung off his coat. 

With the strong, straight, headlong leap of a prac- 
ticed diver, Chiswick struck the water near the place 
where Maud had gone down. 

A few painful seconds to the people now crowding 
the shore, and the daring swimmer reappeared with 
the unconscious girl in his arms. 


maud's many LOVERSe 


69 


CHAPTER VIIL 
maud’s many lovers. 

There are always ready feet to carry bad news, 
so that Ned Rand, who was reading by early lamp- 
light in the cottage, was not long in ignorance of 
Maud’s danger. 

At the first note of alarm he rushed to the river. 

He saw the crowds on the floats about the Neptune 
House, and thither he ran, to find that Maud had 
been saved through the gallantry of a young gentle- 
man named Chiswick, and that she was being revived 
by Mrs. Wogley and her daughter, in the principal 
apartment of their strange abode. 

Edgar Moore was but an indifferent swimmer, and 
it would have gone hard with him had it not been 
for the young man who had planned the accident and 
the rescue. 

Push took the young lawyer to his own room, and 
dressed him in a suit of his own rough, warm clothing. 

Edgar Moore, like a brave man, was quite indiffer- 
ent to his own safety. 

He was nearly distracted till Push told him that 
Miss Rand was dressed up in Polly’s Sunday best, 
and that she was ‘‘just as bright and strong as if 
nothing at all had happened.” 


70 


MAUD MORTON. 


Polly Wogley came out to where Ned Rand was 
standing on the float, and taking his hand between 
both her own strong palms, she said : 

Yer sister's all right, Mr. Rand. She only went 
down wanst, when Chiswick, he duv in and catched 
her. I ain't had no ust for that feller till this time, 
but he's game, an' he's got narve ; and I do like men 
of that kind." 

Still holding Ned's hand, Polly led him into the 
room where Maud was standing, with no indication 
in her beautiful face of the ordeal through which she 
had just passed. 

As soon as she caught sfght of Ned, she ran to 
him; and he thanking heaven in his heart, folded 
her close to it, and whispered : 

Anything worse than this would have killed me. 
There, rest a moment till I thank the brave man who 
rescued you." 

At that moment Homer Chiswick came in, and 
Ned took both his hands and thanked him, in his own 
generous way, for his gallant conduct. 

You must come up to the cottage with us, Mr. 
Chiswick, where I can give you dry clothes, and my 
mother will make you a hot drink." 

‘H shall be thankful for the dry clothes," said 
Chiswick," ‘^but as to the warm drink, why, I never 
felt less in need of medicine in my life. I regret the 
accident, and I fear that my own carelessness had 
even more to do with it than Mr. Moore's." 

No," cried Edgar Moore, who had come in look- 


MAUD S MANY LOVERS. 


V 

iiig like a refined edition of Push, the fault was 
wholly mine ; and if it had not been for the gallantry 
of those two gentlemen, I fear it would have gone 
hard with Maud and myself, for I was so stunned by 
the crash that I knew nothing till I found myself 
being dragged out of the water.*' 

This was certainly very manly, but Chiswick, as 
the hero of the occasion, insisted in the most noble 
and magnanimous way on taking the great share of 
the blame on himself and Push. 

And thus it came about that, in telling the truth in 
an untruthful way, he increased in the eyes of oth- 
ers the merits of an act that on the face of it was 
very heroic. 

Polly Wogley insisted on going up to the cottage 
with Maud’s wet clothes, and on the way she devoted 
herself to Ned. 

This was the first time she had ever spoken to him, 
and she availed herself of the occasion to show, by 
a manner that was more eloquent than any words, 
the warmth of the feeling with which she regarded 
him. 

On his part, Ned was pleased with the girl’s evi- 
dent earnestness and honesty — being wholly without 
suspicion, how could he guess her secret? And 
when they parted at the cottage, he thanked Polly, 
and told her if she ever wanted a friend, to let him 
know. 

Polly Wogley went home very happy; and she 
told her mother, whom she had already acquainted 


72 


MAUD MORTON. 


with her feeling for Ned Rand, that she was sure 
he felt toward her pretty much as she did toward 
him. Edgar Moore went home as soOn as Mrs. 
Rand had dried his clothes at the cottage. 

He was not pleased with himself. 

^le had presented to him the opportunity of a life- 
time to prove himself a hero in the eyes of the 
woman he loved, and instead he had shown an inca- 
pacity to care even for himself. 

It need not be said that he was not all to blame ; 
yet, as he left the cottage, he could not help feeling 
that this dark-eyed, handsome young stranger would 
be, if he already was not, a rival for the hand and 
heart of the beautiful Maud. 

It is generally believed that women have an intui- 
tion as to the character of men, and that they can 
see through them at a glance. 

If this were at all true, we should not have so many 
sensible girls throwing themselves away on rascals. 

Homer Chiswick proved in this, his first visit to 
the Rand cottage, that a man of the most degraded 
morals, if he be but handsome in person and brilliant 
in conversation, can win the confidence of the other 
sex, be they young or old. 

Mrs. Rand, who rather prided herself on her judg- 
ment and ability to read character, said, after Chis- 
wick had gone: 

'‘That is a manly man; and so modest, too; not a 
word about himself, though it is easy to see that he 
is a gentleman by birth and education.” 


maud's many lovers. 


73 


Ned had not liked this man; but now when he 
considered that Chiswick had saved Maud’s life, 
and that his mother spoke so highly of him, he 
blamed himself for what he thought his own preju- 
dices, and he determined to make amends, like the 
brave, generous fellow he was, by showing the 
stranger more attention in the future. 

As to Maud, she, of course, felt thankful to the 
young gentleman who saved her life ; but as she 
looked at him she gradually forgot the incident that 
brought them together. 

The man’s strange, black eyes fascinated her, as 
the deep, glowing eyes of the serpent are said to 
fascinate birds, and draw them helplessly down to 
destruction. 

Chiswick’s low, rich voice played an important 
part in the spell which, from the first, he threw over 
Maud. 

It was not till he had left that she could reason 
about this strange influence. Then the reaction set 
in, and she was seized with a chill, and the more she 
thought of this man, the stronger became the feeling 
of horror with which she considered him. 

The next morning she was too ill to go to the of- 
fice, but she felt, without saying so, that it was the 
rescuer and not the danger that affected her. 

Donald Morton had made it a habit, when he 
came to the factory in the morning, to go into the 
artists’ room and ask Maud how she was getting on. 

He was surprised and disappointed at finding her 


74 


MAUD MORTON. 


absent ; and anxious to learn the cause, he sought out 
Ned. 

Ned told about the accident and Chiswick’s gal- 
lantry, and added : 

My sister will be all right by to-morrow, I hope.” 

Donald Morton was shocked. 

'' I must see Miss Rand as soon as possible and con- 
gratulate her, for if anything had happened to her, 
/ should have felt it perhaps as keenly as you who 
are her brother.” 

Ned had noticed Morton’s attention to Maud, and 
he did not like it. 

He had not a high regard for his employer’s 
purity of character, but now he imagined that the 
motives of that gentleman were, at least, of an hon- 
orable kind. So he said : 

My sister and my mothrer will appreciate your 
anxiety.” 

Morton had seen Chiswick at breakfast, and now 
he wondered why his secretary — ever ready to mag- 
nify himself — had not told him of the adventures of 
the night before. He had as much confidence in 
Chiswick as he had in any one, but this neglect was 
well calculated to shake it. 

However, like the cunning man that he was, Ife 
kept his own counsel, and about the middle of the 
afternoon he drove out to Ned Rand’s cottage, hav- 
ing in the meantime sent a magnificent bouquet and 
a note of congratulation to Maud. 

Mrs. Rand, after exchanging salutations with Dom 


maud’s many lovers. 


75 


aid Morton, for whom she had no great liking, left 
him alone with Maud in the cozy little parlor. 

One thing can be said in Morton’s favor, namely, 
he was a man of decision. Having made up his mind 
to do a thing, good or bad, he did it promptly and 
with all his might. 

There could be no more favorable time than the 
present to tell Maud that he loved her and that he 
wanted her to be his wife. 

With a bluntness that was only saved from bru- 
tality by a certain rude eloquence of manner, he 
said to Maud, after a brief general talk : 

''Miss Rand, I am a middle-aged man. I am, I 
believe, very wealthy ; but I have neither kith nor 
kin nor loved one to share my fortune. 1 have 
not much else to commend me, but this I can say 
with truth : From the moment I first saw you I 
loved you, and that love has dominated my life every 
day with greater force. You are young and beauti- 
ful, yet if I do not ask you I can never know if you 
could make up your mind to share my lot and be my 
wife. Do not answer me now,” he continued, with 
increasing fervor. " I should expect a refusal, if you 
were to speak at this moment. ’ Wait for a week be- 
fore you make up your mind. Speak with your 
brother, and tell him that when you say 'yes,’ I shall 
take him into partnership.” 


^6 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PREPARING FOR THE BURGLARS. 

Maud Rand was so confused by Morton's proposal 
that, had he insisted on an answer then and there, 
she would have been unable to give it, not because 
she had the slightest doubt about her feelings, or as 
to what the answer should be ; but the unexpected- 
ness of the act, added to her illness, deprived her 
of her presence of mind and ready wit. 

Fortunately Morton did not remain to confuse her 
with his undesirable presence. 

As if alarmed at his own audacity, he hurried off 
after making his proposal, first telling Maud that he 
did not wish her to go to work until she was as strong 
as ever, and adding: 

need not assure you. Miss Rand, that your 
wages will go on just the same, even if you are away 
a month.” 

After supper that evening Maud drew up her 
chair beside Ned, and sandwiching his big brown 
hand between her own so soft and white, she 
said: 

Brother, I shall not work in Mr. Morton's factory 
any more.” 

'‘You know, Maud, I never wished you to go 


PREPARING FOR THE BURGLARS. 


77 


there/' said Ned, adding another hand to the pile 
resting on his knee. 

‘‘ It is not that, but I do not wish to see Mr. Mor- 
ton again. He was here to-day, and I want to tell 
you why he came and all about it.” 

He has made Maud an offer that a thousand girls 
would be ready to jump at,” said Mrs. Rand. But, 
rich or poor, old or young, my advice is, never mar- 
ry a man that you can neither love nor respect.” 

“ My feeling exactly, mother,” said Maud. And 
then she averted her face and related to Ned all that 
had transpired during Morton’s visit 

My sister,’' said Ned, laying a hand lightly on 
the golden hair, '' 1 can only think of your happi- 
ness in this matter. My own advancement is not a 
consideration. Mr. Morton, as my employer, treats 
me well; but I would rather work my fingers off at 
the hardest labor than that you should marry such a 
man.” 

Why should I marry at all ? ” replied Maud. 

Surely, neither you nor mother wants to get rid 
of me.” 

“No, indeed, darling,” said Mrs. Rand. 

Ned's only comment was to stroke the golden hair 
more rapidly. 

“ I would rather not think of marriage, brother, 
but live and work near you forever, if you will let 
me.” 

“ Oh, he’ll let you. That’ll suit Ned and me,” said 
Mrs. Rand, with a happy little laugh. 


78 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘‘Sister/’ said Ned, stooping over and kissing her 
forehead, “you shall do as your heart bids you. It 
ever you feel that you would be happier under the 
legal protection of another, I shall bless, but will not 
attempt to stay you, nor will my mother’s love nor 
— nor mine be withdrawn from you. But let the 
matter drop. I am very happy as it is.” And his 
fine face glowed with the light of love and hope. 

Donald Morton’s long career of success had led 
him to believe that failure was impossible. 

He felt as certain as a man could feel that Maud 
Rand would accept his proposition when she came 
to consider the wealth and grandeur and the ad- 
vance of her brother which would follow it. 

That night he was in high spirits, and after supper 
he told Homer Chiswick what he had done, and the 
certainty of his success. 

“ I thought,” he said, “ that you would be delight- 
ed at my good luck, Chiswick. Why, man, you look 
as sad over it as if I had invited you to the funeral 
of a dear friend.” 

“ And I have nearly as great a reason to feel sad,” 
said Chiswick, after a solemn pause. 

“Bet us have the reason; out with it,” said Don- 
ald, lighting a cigar and throwing himself back in 
his big easy-chair to listen. 

Homer Chiswick guessed that this was coming, 
and that sooner or later Morton must know the ex- 
act relationship he sustained to Maud Rand. 

The young man did not shrink from the thought 


PREPARING fOR THE BURGLARS. 


79 


of an uncle’s ignorantly marrying his niece. He was 
not troubled with moral convictions, but he now 
saw that his own plan demanded that he should tell 
Donald Morton all he had learned from Coots about 
Maud. 

It was a delicate subject, but Chiswick was just the 
man to approach it gradually, and to present it care- 
fully. 

After a long preamble, he said: 

Coots is such a liar that one cannot tell what to 
believe, but, under the circumstances, I think it is 
right that you should know what he says about this 
young lady.” 

Chiswick was too shrewd to repeat all Coots had 
said about Morton’s villainies ; indeed, he cunningly 
kept that in the background, and satisfied himself 
by the plain statement : 

“ Coots says that Miss Rand is your niece, and that 
he can prove it.” 

This was said very quietly, but through the slits of 
his half-closed eyes Chiswick could see the startling 
effect of his words on his employer. 

Morton sat suddenly upright, and the cigar fell 
unnoticed from his lips to the floor. 

His hands clutched the sides of the chair, as if by 
a desperate effort he was trying to hold himself 
down. ♦ 

His eyes had an expression of mingled horror and 
defiance, and he breathed like a man exhausted by a 
long climb. 


8o 


MAUD MORTON. 


At length he managed to hiss : 

It is an infernal lie ! I have no niece ! Rand is 
no kinsman of mine ! ” 

Of course I believe you, Mr. Morton,'’ said Chis- 
wick, his words and his feelings being opposites. I 
told Coots that Rand was no relation of yours, and 
so his sister could not be.” 

‘C\nd did the rascal try to explain that away?” 

Yes. He said Ned Rand adopted the girl when 
her mother died ten or eleven years ago. He fur- 
ther said that the girl wore, and still wears, a pe- 
culiar locket, and that it contained the pictures of 
her father and mother; the former, he says, was 
your brother.” 

^‘Why did you not tell me this before?” asked 
Morton, striking the table and glaring at his secre- 
tary. 

Because I did not wish to trouble you about a 
statement which I believed to be false. But, sir, if 
you should prefer to hear all the idle gossip in cir- 
culation about yourself, and which is inevitable 
where one is rich and prominent, I shall tell it to 
you,” said Chiswick, with the same quiet, impertur- 
bable manner. 

‘^Excuse me, Chiswick,” said Morton, becoming 
suddenly calm, ‘^but as a gnat can drive an elephant 
wild, so this wretch, Coots, annoys my life. I have 
been hoping that by this time you would have me 
rid of him.” 

"‘You can rid yourself of him, if you choose, Mr. 


PREPARING FOR THE BURGLARS. 


8l 


Morton, for, as I told you, he has planned to rob this 
house on Friday night. This is Tuesday. I can 
give you the alarm, for you know I am to let him in. 
I had prepared to have him arrested in the act and 
sent to the penitentiary, but if you should prefer to 
have him dead, the power to gratify your wish is in 
your own hands. As for myself, I have a horror of 
blood,’' said the impassive Chiswick. 

“ I am satisfied you are doing the very best you 
can for me, Mr. Chiswick. As to shedding human 
blood, why, I have as great a horror of it as your- 
self.’* Donald Morton rose and continued: have 

one of my bilious headaches, and I think I shall go 
to bed. Good night.” 

Good night, sir,” said Chiswick, rising and bow- 
ing with great deference. 

The instant th': secretary was alone he threw him- 
self into Morton’s chair and gave way to a fit of 
dumb laughter. 

“ Ho, ho, my good master! ” he chuckled, I know 
you now, and you think you know me. The lady 
shall be mine ; and as to the fortune, why, it shall be 
hers ; and my future will be as rosy and prosperous 
as I tried in vain to make the past.” 

But had Homer Chiswick known the revolution 
that had taken place in the heart and mind of his 
employer, it is doubtful if he would have felt quite 
so happy and confident. 

Donald Morton reasoned that if Coots had told 
Chiswick about the niece, he had also told him every. 


82 


MAUD MORTON. 


thing else. Believing this to be the case, he made 
up his mind that his secretary was deceiving him. 

Chiswick would be a more dangerous man than 
Coots,” was the way Morton reasoned. He 
is going to bring Coots to this house to rob it, and 
it is for me to kill or capture the fellow. It is clear 
to me that Chiswick has served my purpose ; why 
not get rid of them both together? ” 

This thought entered and took possession of Don- 
ald Morton’s mind. 

He lacked Chiswick’s talent for cool villainy, but 
he more than made up for it by his energy and sin- 
gleness of purpose. 

The next day he was rather glad when Ned Rand 
told him that Maud had made up her mind to change 
her employment. 

That very afternoon he drove out to Ned’s cottage, 
ostensibly to inquire after the health of the girl in 
whom his interest was intensified, though it had 
changed its character. 

Maud met him with her customary grace and kind- 
ness, nor was she surprised when he expressed a de- 
sire to examine the curious heart of gold fastened to 
the chain about her neck. 

'' It contains the picture of my father and mother,” 
said Maud, as she unclasped the chain. “ I suppose 
you know,” she added, as she handed it to him, ^‘that 
I am an adopted child in this family.” 

Yes; I was aware of that,” said Donald Morton, 
the hand that held the locket trembling as his eyes 


PREPARING FOR THE BURGLARS. 83 

examined the likeness of the brother and the A^oman 
he had so deeply wronged. 

Quite a unique bit of work,” he said, handing 
back the locket. 

He went home soon after this, satisfied that Chis- 
wick had told the truth and more than ever con- 
vinced that he had learned too much. 

Another crisis had come in the rich man’s affairs, 
and to meet it he felt that Coots and his secretary 
must be put out of the way at any cost. 


84 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER X. 

A NIGHT ALARM. 

Donald Morton was convinced that neither Maud 
Rand nor her adopted mother nor brother had the 
least suspicion that she was his niece, nor that she 
was the owner by right of the greater part of that 
vast estate that made him the man of mark he was. 

While Maud was ignorant of her rights, Donald 
Morton was quite willing that she should live un- 
harmed. 

But so long as there were those living who knew 
of his and her past, so long there was danger. 

From a feeling of confidence in, if not of liking 
for, Chiswick, within the short space of three days 
Morton came to hate and fear him as he never had 
hated or feared Coots. 

But he took care to keep this to himself. 

He only spoke once again to Chiswick about Maud, 
and then it was to regret that she had left his em- 
ploy. 

For,” he said, she is a charming 3^oung lady, 
and one of the very best designers I ever had in m^’^ 
service.” 

On his part, Chiswick fully explained his undei>- 
standing with Coots. 


A NIGHT ALARM. 


85 


He is to come here at midnight, and I am to let 
him in. He hopes to find money and jewelry in the 
safe, but his real object is to secure certain papers 
which he imagines will be of use to him. It is for 
you to say whether we shall arrest him or — shoot 
him,” said Chiswick, in the cool, impassive way that 
distinguished him. 

^‘Let me think about it,” was Morton’s reply. 

And he not onl)^ did think about it, but he prepared 
himself for the event by going into a kind of train- 
ing. 

He procured two pistols. He had been quite an 
expert with the weapon in his younger days. In his 
own room, before going to bed, he would practice 
leaping suddenly up and aiming at an imaginary 
robber. 

He would go through the motions of shooting at 
one in front and the other behind, and this he repeat- 
ed, with a pistol in each hand, till he had fired off all 
his cartridges — in imagination. 

By the evening of the contemplated burglary he 
had fully made up his mind to give Chiswick and 
Coots a similar reception. 

Two days before this he had placed a detective on. 
Chiswick’s track. 

I fear the young man is getting into bad company, 
and I want him shadov/ed when away from my 
house.” 

This was Morton’s instruction to the detective. 

He knew that the result would be to show that 


86 


MAUD MORTON. 


Chiswick was the companion of Coots and other 
thieves; so that, if he were killed at the time of the 
burglary, it could be proved that he was in league 
with the ex-convict, and had actually let him into the 
house. 

Chiswick had not a particle of faith in the integ- 
rity of his employer. 

By this time he had come to the conclusion that 
Donald Morton was a heartless villain, but this only 
kept alive his admiration for the man. 

He also thought that Morton was a Coward, and 
this fact led him to believe that Coots would not be 
shot at. He never suspected— and his nature was 
most suspicious — that his own life was in danger. 

Coots had come to have faith in Chiswick. He 
admired him, as ignorant men admire intelligent as- 
sociates, and as weak men admire strong ones. 

He knew that Push had become devoted to Chis- 
wick; and he saw, with delight, that his young as- 
sociate was paying a great deal of attention to 
Polly. 

^‘Chiswick will be rich after a bit,” Coots said to 
his wife, ‘‘an’ if him an’ Polly was to strike up a 
match, I think it’d be a good one.” 

“Well, I don’t,” said Mrs. Wogley, in her blunt 
way. “Besides which, Polly’s heart’s sot on another 
an’ a better man.” 

“An’ who might that better man be?” 

“ If you had any eyes in yer head. Coots, ye’d 
see that the better man’s Ned Rand. But, be that 


A NIGHT ALARM. 


87 


as it may, let me tell you, I ain’t got no use for this 
Chiswick. I uster think that you was just ’bout as 
bad a man as ever lived, but since seein’ yer new pal 
I’ve changed my mind; he’s about a thousain times 
wuss’n you and with this frank opinion Mrs. Wog- 
ley turned away from her husband. 

At length the night for the burglar}^ ” arrived. 

Coots was the only man concerned who was hon- 
estly carrying out his part of the scheme, that is, if 
the word “honestly” be admissible in such a con- 
nection. 

He entered into this plan at the suggestion of his 
“pal,” in order to secure papers that would be of use 
to Chiswick, but which he did not know enough to 
use to his own advantage. 

With Chiswick to let him in, and to aid him in 
getting into the safe, Coots anticipated no trouble. 
He did not even look at the understanding as at all 
criminal ; for, with his low moral standard, he could 
not imagine it stealing to take from a man that, of 
which he had become unlawfully possessed. 

Coots believed himself to be a very bad man. If 
anything in his wretched character could give it one 
commendable feature, it was the fact he was not a 
hypocrite. 

“When I know I’m a snake an’ nothin’ else,” he 
would say to his wife and cronies, “ why should I 
try to make folks, with two good eyes in their heads, 
believe I’m a innocent, cooin’ dove ? ” 

But while Coots retained a certain sort of fidelity 


88 


MAUD MORTON. 


to his word, Chiswick had not the slightest concep- 
tion of that feeling which is said to create a sense of 
“ honor even among thieves.” 

Coots had served his purpose, and he was now quite 
as eager as Morton to have the fellow out of the way, 
and whether he was shot or imprisoned, it mattered 
not to him. 

Chiswick had already possessed himself of either 
copies or the originals of such papers as he found in 
the safe, and which he believed would be of use to 
him. 

He was now ready to break with Morton, and to 
begin a daring campaign on his own account, the first 
important step in which would be to win and wed 
the beautiful Maud Rand. 

But the oldest, coarsest, and most resolute of this 
trio of criminals was Donald Morton. 

As a man will fight and struggle harder to main- 
tain his old home against assailants than to found a 
new one, so Morton, from his stronger vantage 
ground, was ready to do battle against all who 
threatened him. 

That Friday night, and about two hours before 
the expected coming of the \tretched Coots, Morton 
and Chiswick had what each said was ‘‘a very clear 
understanding of the case.” 

I have about made up my mind to summon an 
officer,” said Morton. can signal the district 
messenger office through an instrument near the 
head of my bed, and this I shall do as soon as I hear 


A NIGHT ALARM. 89 

the noise ; and I think I shall call for you to help 
me.” 

'' Oh ! that’d never do,” said Chiswick. ‘‘You see, 
Coots believes that I am no longer in your employ. 
You forget that I am to meet Coots outside, and 
enter by means of my dead-latch key.” 

“Oh, yes; to be sure ! Ah! Chiswick, you have a 
better head for such matters than I have,” said 
Morton, highly delighted with this arrangement. 

Soon after this Chiswick went out to meet Coots 
at a rendezvous not far away. He would have 
walked along with a less jaunty air had he known 
there was a detective on his track. 

Morton went to the room, locked the door, lower- 
ed the blinds, and then loaded the two revol- 
vers. 

He heard Mrs. Belton going along the hall outside, 
and he called to her: 

“ Is the house closed up, Mrs. Belton?” 

“Oh, yes, sir; I always see to that last thing,” re- 
plied the old housekeeper. 

“ I see by the papers that there have been a great 
many burglaries of late. We cannot be too care- 
ful.” 

“Very true, sir; but 1 can’t well see how we could 
be more careful, unless we were to keep the house 
filled with police and private watchmen.” 

“ Even those do not avail at times. Good night, 
Mrs. Belton.” 

“ Good night, sir,” repeated the old lady, as, candle 


90 


xMAUD MORTON. 


in hand, she went up to her own room, having seen 
that all the servants had preceded her. 

The instant she was out of hearing, Donald Mor- 
ton took off his slippers and crept down stairs. 

He opened all the doors leading to the library. 
In this room a dim light was always kept burning 
during the night. 

This done, Morton returned to his own room and 
prepared for bed, but instead of lying down he put 
on a wrapper, and then, with a pistol in each hand, 
he crept back to the library and concealed himself 
in a corner, shaded on one side by a bookcase and in 
front by a heavy curta il. 

In his anxiety to be ready, he went into hiding a 
half hour before the appointed time. 

Hitherto he had not been troubled with a cough, 
nor had he ever shown a tendency to sneeze ; but as 
he crouched down in that corner he had to cough or 
strangle. 

It took him a full half-hour to control his nerves, 
which he did by rising and walking about the room. 

When again he went into hiding behind the cur- 
tain, he felt sure that he could remain there in silence 
for any length of time. 

He had resumed his position but a few minutes 
when the clock on the mantel struck twelve. 

The sound had hardly died out when he heard the 
front door opening and closing. 

In a few seconds Chiswick entered the library, 
turned up the light a little higher and looked about 


A NIGHT ALARM. 


91 


him. Satisfied with the inspection, he took off his 
boots and went to the back of the house, where he 
was to admit Coots through a window. 

To Morton it seemed that the secretary had been 
gone an age, and he was beginning to feel like cough- 
ing again, when Chiswick reappeared, leading in 
Coots. 

^‘Now, old fellow,” whispered Chiswick, Til open 
the outer door for you, but the secret drawer of the 
safe you must work yourself, and while you are at it 
I’ll watch.” 

“All right,” said Cools, as he set a basket contain- 
ing burglars’ tools on the table. 

Chiswick quickly opened the safe and pointed to 
the inner, central drawer, which he told Coots held 
the desired papers. 

“ Now I’ll watch,” said Chiswick. 

But before he could take a step two pistol shots 
rang out, followed by shouts of alarm and other 
shots at close range. 


92 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER XI. 

WHAT FOLLOWED TFIE BURGLARY.” 

In the midst of the shooting* and shouting the 
light in the library was extinguished. The gas was 
turned off by either Chiswick or Coots, Morton could 
never tell which, but he did know that it was not the 
man who put out the light that fired into the cor- 
ner. 

The noise not only alarmed Mrs. Belton and the 
servants, but it was heard on the street by the 
drowsy policemen, and soon there came a loud 
pounding on the front door. 

One of the servants lit the hall lamp and opened 
the door, when the officers ran in. 

Soon there were lights burning in all the lower 
rooms ; and in the library Donald Morton was found 
lying on the floor with a pistol in his right hand, and 
the blood flowing down his face from a wound in his 
head. 

He looked to be dead, and in their horror at the 
sight, even the officers forgot to search for the per- 
petrators of what they considered a horrible mur- 
der. 

Leaving Morton to the anxious care of his servants 
and the ever-increasing crowd of officers, let us fob 


WHAT FOLLOWED THE ‘^BURGLARY/’ 


93 


low the two men with whom he had been playing 
such a desperate game of cross-purposes. 

Morton’s first shot was aimed at Chiswick, and the 
instant that the young man felt the stinging pain 
along his side, he turned and realized the perfidy of 
his employer. 

Quick as a flash, Chiswick leaped forward and 
turned out the light, but, before he had accomplished 
this. Coots had drawn a pistol and fired at the man 
in the corner. 

Coots, accustomed to act in such ordeals, retained 
his presence of mind. 

He was a giant in strength, and seizing his com- 
panion by the arm, he whispered : 

We must fly ! The game’s up for the present ! ” 

''Leave me; I’m wounded,” said Chiswick, who 
had no dread of being captured. 

But Coots, thief though he was, had still a rough 
kind of loyalty, that might have been admirable un- 
der other circumstances. 

"I’ll take you through or die a-tryin’,” he said. 

Chiswick was too weak to resist ; indeed, he faint- 
ed and had no recollection of what happened till he 
woke up in a close carriage that was being driven 
along at a frightful speed. 

" Where am I ? ” he asked. 

" In a kerridge beyond the reach of the cops,” said 
Coots. 

" How did we get here ? ” 

"I carried you to the back lane. Without tollin’ 


94 


MAUD MORTON. 


you anything about it, I had a friend there with this 
rig; an’ lucky it was for us that he was on hand, for 
long before this the whole city’s alarmed. How do 
you feel, ole man ? 

“ I don’t think any bones are broken, and I seem 
to breathe all right. I wish you could get me to a 
doctor,” said Chiswick, who at heart was anything 
but brave. 

‘‘We’ll be atGringer’s Den in a few minutes. Don’t 
give way,” said Coots, after putting his head out of 
the carriage to see where they were. 

“ Who is Gringer? ” 

“A man of our kind. He uster be a doctor, but 
the biz didn’t have enough excitement for him. 
Hello ! Here we are ! ” exclaimed Coots, as the car- 
riage came to a halt before a long, low house, at the 
back of which was a dark forest, and to the front 
the waters of Long Island Sound. 

Though it was now very late at night, or rather 
early in the morning, with no sign of life about the 
building, a peculiar rap from the driver, followed by 
a whistle from Coots, resulted in the opening of a 
door, through which lances of light shot into the 
darkness. 

“ Who is it ? ” asked a man in the door. 

“Friends,” replied Coots. 

“ How shall I know you to be friends?” 

“ By our having a sign and a password,” said Coots. 

“ Can you give us the sign and word ? ” asked the 
man. 


WHAT FOLLOWED THE BURGLARY.” 95 

I can.'' 

Coots advanced, took the hand of the man in the 
door, and, as he grasped it, he bent forward and 
whispered : 

Down with the law." 

Right," said the man in the door, who was no 
other than ‘‘Doctor" Gringer, the proprietor of 
this thieves’ den. “ Enter, friends. Here all such 
are welcome." 

Coots returned to the carriage, and helped Chis- 
wick into the house. 

Gringer conducted them through a room in which 
were many rough-looking men, to a small apartment 
at the further end of the building. 

“You’ve got it pretty bad," said Gringer, as, in 
obedience to Coots’s request, he examined Chiswick’s 
wound. 

“Any danger?" asked Chiswick nervously. 

“ If I knew you well enough, I might be able to 
say. Men have died of less wounds, and survived 
worst ones. But you are young, and look as if you 
should pull through. The best medicine is pluck, 
and a good constitution is better than all the doc- 
tors," said Gringer, as he proceeded, in a cool, pro- 
fessional way, to probe for the ball, which had enter- 
ed Chiswick’s side, in a direct line with his heart, 
showing that the man who fired the bullet meant to 
kiU. 

Chiswick was now convinced of Morton’s perfidy, 
but he kept his knowledge to himself, nor did he 


96 


MAUD MORTON. 


need Coots’s assurance that Morton would not at- 
tempt to hunt them down, to feel secure from pur- 
suit. 

But there was another matter that preyed on Chis- 
wick’s mind, and made him somewhat indifferent to 
the pain of his wound, which, with his highly sensi- 
tive organization, he ’would have otherwise felt very 
keenly — that was the people with whom he would 
be forced to live for some time. 

He did not attempt to deceive himself with the 
belief that he was one bit better than the meanest 
thief in this den of outlaws, but he saw that such an 
association, if known to the world, would tell against 
him when he came to play what he called his ‘‘high 
trump card.’* 

“You may have to stay here for a month,” said 
Gringer, in reply to Chiswick’s question. “But 
that mustn’t frighten you. Why, I’ve had men so 
badly cut up that they had to stay with me a year 
before they got out.” 

“ That must have taken a pile of money?” 

“ So it did, Brother Chiswick ; but if you haven’t 
got the rhino, there Avon’t be wanting friends to see 
)^ou through,” said Gringer, adding, as he turned to 
leave the room: “Try to sleep. After all, that’s 
better than all the other medicines put together. 
Rid your mind of all trouble, and snooze.” 

This was excellent advice, but in times of great 
anxiety the thoughts are independent of the will, 
and it is as impossible to be untroubled as it would 


WHAT FOLLOWED THE BURGLARY.” 97 

be for a lake to remain unruffled under the lash of a 
cyclone. 

While Chiswick lay in the dark room of the 
thieves’ den, planning vengeance against Morton, 
Morton reclined on his own bed, surrounded by a 
half-score of the best doctors in the city. 

It did not take those learned men long to discover 
that Morton’s wound came within a quarter of an 
inch of piercing his brain.” But as the bullet had 
produced only a shock and temporary unconscious- 
ness, the rich man was soon restored to his senses. 

‘‘You’ll be all right in a few days, Mr. Morton,” 
said one of the surgeons. 

“ And it is to be hoped the wretches who attempt- 
ed your murder will be caught,” said another. 

“I am here as a detective,” said a quiet, smooth- 
faced man, approaching the bed and throwing back 
the lapel of his coat to exhibit his badge. “ Permit 
me to ask, Mn Morton, if you saw the man who shot 
you?” 

“ I saw two or three men,” said Morton, slowly, 
^‘but the light was so indistinct that I could not see 
their faces, and so I do not know which of them shot 
me.” 

“Do you think you could recognize any of the 
burglars if you saw them again?” asked Detective 
ChamberSo 

“No; I am sure I could not.” 

“Could you give me any description of them ? ” 

“Not the slightest. I heard the noise, rushed 


98 


MAUD MORTON. 


down from my room, saw the men at the safe, fired, 
and was shot myself, after which I can remember 
nothing,*’ said Morton, waving his hand to indicate 
that he did not wish to talk any more. 

The doctors indorsed this wish, so Mr. Chambers, 
the well-known detective, left the room with the feel- 
ing that the man who was cool and brave enough to 
seek out and attack the burglars ought to be able to 
remember something about them. 

The doctor best known to Donald Morton, and 
who might be called his “family physician,” assured 
him that all he needed was rest, and, promising to 
call early on the morrow, he left with his profes- 
sional brethren. 

Although enjoined to go to sleep, Donald Morton 
found this as difficult as Chiswick did to follow Grin- 
ger’s advice. 

He questioned Mrs. Belton, but she declared that 
neither she nor the servants heard anything till the 
pistol shots were fired. 

“Then,” she said, “ I recalled your last words to 
me about the burglars. I sprang out of bed. Annie, 
my niece, was sleeping with me ; and we both scream- 
ed for dear life, and ran down to where the police 
were knocking at the door.” 

“ And you are sure you didn’t see the burglars?” 

“No more, Mr. Morton, than if the floors be- 
neath their feet had opened and swallowed them 
up.* 

“Well, let the wretches go. I am sure I hurt some 


WHAT FOLLOWED THE BURGLARY.’’ 99 

of them. Now I’ll try and get some sleep,” said 
Morton. 

The old housekeeper left the room, and he did try 
to sleep, but, though the eyes were closed, the brain 
was busy. 

He cursed himself for the timidity that made his 
arm so unsteady. He could have killed the men 
who, he thought, stood between him and perfect 
happiness, if he had only kept his nerve. 

What would be the result now ? 

He asked himself this question again and again, 
without being able to find an answer. 

He could not arrest either Coots or Chiswick, and 
the latter was the man of whom he stood most in 
dread. 

If Maud Rand was dead, that would settle it.” 
This he repeated over and over to himself, and the 
more he considered it, the more firmly convinced he 
became that his only safety lay in her death or ban- 
ishment. 

Morton had that dread of and respect for Ned 
Rand which mean and cowardly natures have for 
noble ones. 

So long as Ned Rand had life and strength, his 
adopted sister would be sure of a protector. 

Ned Rand must be rendered powerless. 

To discharge him would be an easy matter, and 
this Donald Morton decided to do at once. 

He could prevent his being employed in other 
establishments by a process known to most employers. 


too 


MAUD MORTON. 


Not only this, but Donald Morton could and would 
make the young man homeless. 

Ned had purchased the cottage from Morton, pay- 
ing some cash, and giving a mortgage for the bal- 
ance, which he was paying off from his savings. 

This mortgage was so drawn up that Morton could 
foreclose it at any time, and he resolved to do it as 
soon as possible. 

It must not be imagined that Morton had any hate 
for Ned Rand. Indeed, he admired him as a citizen 
and a mechanic, but the young man was in his way, 
and might become a power to destroy him if he were 
not crushed in time. 

The desperate man gave no thought to the value 
of the lives or characters of a thousand others, so 
that he saved himself. 

After so long a success he could not afford to be 
beaten. 

He must win, though it took half — yes, all — his ill- 
gotten gains ; but the more he thought this over, the 
more convinced he became that he needed a cool, 
unscrupulous man, like Chiswick, to help him ; and 
having faith in the power of money, he resolved to 
seek out such a person at once. 


THE PERSECUTION BEGINS. 


lOI 


CHAPTER XIL 

THE PERSECUTION BEGINS. 

The attempt to rob the mansion of Mr. Donald 
Morton got into the papers, and so became the talk 
of the town. 

It was rumored that the guilty parties were men 
whom Mr. Morton had befriended, and who were 
still in his employ. 

“It is believed,” said one newspaper, “that Mr. 
Morton knows at least one of the criminals, but a 
mistaken goodness of heart prevents his prosecuting.” 

When asked about his private secretary, Morton 
explained his absence by saying he had gone away 
on a vacation, so that all the people in the rich man’s 
employ began to wonder to which one of their num- 
ber suspicion attached. 

Ned Rand heard of the robbery, as a matter of 
course, but, beyond regretting that his employer had 
been injured, and that the rascals escaped, he gave 
no great thought to the matter. 

He always spent his spare hours in that pleasant- 
est place in the world to him — home. 

He left at a certain minute in the morning, and re- 
turned at a certain minute in the evening, with more 
than the punctuality of the average clock. 


102 


MAUD MORTON. 


The surprise of his mother and Maud was there- 
fore very great when Ned appeared one day at noon 
in the cottage porch, carrying a bundle in which 
were the clothes he wore when working at the fac- 
tory. 

‘^Are you sick, my boy?” was Mrs. Rand’s salu- 
tation, as she kissed him, and scanned his expressive 
face, which, as he was a very poor actor, showed his 
feelings all the more for his efforts to look cheerful. 

No,” said Ned; ‘‘ I am in excellent health, dear 
mother, and as I am young, strong, and a good me- 
chanic, I can’t see why I should be downhearted 
because 1 find myself out of a job.” 

Then you are discharged?” said Maud, in sur- 
prise. 

Yes, sister; Mr. Morton appeared at the factory 
to-day for the first time since his injury, and the very 
first thing he did was to send for me, and tell me my 
services were no longer required.” 

‘‘And what reason did he assign?” asked Maud, 
her heart telling her that she was indirectly respon- 
sible for this misfortune. 

“ I urged him to tell me why I was discharged, 
and his reply was, ‘ I can fill your place with a better 
and cheaper man.’ Of course, I could not argue 
against such business logic, so 1 said, ‘ All right, sir ; 
you will at least give me a letter saying how long I 
have been in your employ, and how I have perform- 
ed my duties during that time.’ ” 

“ And what answer did he make?” asked Mrs. Rand. 


THE PERSECUTION BEGINS. 


103 


He replied that he never gave such letters to 
people leaving his service; but that I was free to 
refer any one, from whom I sought employment, to 
him. Rather queer treatment from a man who, a 
few weeks ago, spoke of taking me into partnership. 
But,’' continued Ned, with a laugh, and a hand ex- 
tended to Maud, ''a million times better be as we 
are than the partnership with the conditions it im- 
plied.” 

His heartiness of manner and his confidence in 
himself, after the first shock, had a cheering effect on 
his mother and Maud. 

The latter said, as she came over and took her 
favorite position behind Ned’s chair, with her little 
hands resting on his broad shoulders : 

At heart, dear brother, I am glad you are free 
from that man. From the first, despite my every 
effort to like, I have loathed him. The world would 
be scarcely worth living in if our success depended 
on working for one man. There is plenty for us to 
do, and as we are not afraid of work, I think we can 
doit. Only this morning I received an offer to teach 
drawing at Professor Colville’s school, and I shall 
write at once and accept the place. As for you, why, 
every decorative paper establishment in the country 
will be competing for you, when it is known your 
services are in the market.” 

Ned would have started out that afternoon to look 
for work, but his mother and Maud forbade it. 

It is the first half-holiday you have had since the 


104 


MAUD MORTON. 


fourth of July,” said Maud, ^^and I propose that you 
and I take the boat and go a-fishing.” 

‘‘There’s nothing like fishing,” added Mrs. Rand, 
“to soothe the nerves; at least Fve heard my father 
say so, and he had the evenest temper of any man 
that ever lived.” 

Being thus solicited and advised, Ned agreed to 
row down to the entrance of the Sound with Maud 
and try their luck at fishing. 

If not a fish was caught, or even a bite had, still 
the hours spent with her were the happiest of his 
life ; and so, indifferent as to the success of the os- 
tensible object of their trip, he took the oars, and with 
Maud in the stern steering, they sped down the river. 

As they passed the Neptune House they were 
hailed by Polly Wogley, and from her gestures it 
was evident that she wished to have a talk at closer 
range. 

“ Why, where have you both been ? I ain’t seed 
you for ever so long,” said Polly, as Ned brought the 
skiff alongside the float. 

“ I was in hopes you would be up to see me,” said 
Maud, reaching up her hand to the delighted Polly. 

“And I was hoping the same,” said Ned, taking 
the other hand and so increasing the expression of 
delight on her wholesome face. 

“I couldn’t get off; had so much to do,” said 
Polly, waving her hand at the flag fluttering above 
her floating home. “ But I wanted to ask Mr. Rand 
if he’s seen anything of Chiswick of late ? ” 


THE PERSECUTION BEGINS. IO5 

‘‘I have not, ' replied Ned; '^but I heard that he 
was off spending his vacation.” 

His vacation?” repeated Polly. 

Y es. Mr. Morton gives his clerks a week off every 
year.” 

‘‘But is he still with Morton?” 

“ I believe so.” 

“Well, that's kinder funny,” said Polly, folding 
her red arms and looking abstractedly at the other 
bank. 

As she showed no disposition to explain why she 
thought this “funny,” Ned did not ask her, but with 
another invitation from Maud to Polly to call at the 
cottage when she had time, he moved away. 

They had a pleasant trip down, and finding the 
tide on the turn at the place where they came to an 
anchor, they had excellent fishing. 

When about to return, Maud pointed to a long, 
low house, backed by a dark forest, and seemingly 
constructed of a part of the immense rocks that 
flanked it on the east and west, and said : 

“I have not been able to keep my eyes off that 
weird-looking place. Do you know anything about 
it?” 

“ I must confess I do not,” replied Ned; “but judg- 
ing from the shadows about the place, the occupants, 
if it has any, are not very fond of sunlight.” 

How could they know that, from the very minute 
they came to anchor until Ned took the oars to row 
back, Chiswick, from a room in one end of the 


io6 


MAUD MORTON. 


gloomy building, had been watching them through 
a spy-glass ? 

It is not for us to attempt the explanation of a 
phenomenon the occurrence of which science admits 
without being able to account for it, but it is very 
certain that Maud was affected by her proximity to 
Chiswick; for though she recalled him with a shud- 
der, she could not banish him from her mind so long 
as the boat was at anchor, but as soon as Ned took 
the oars and began to pull homeward the phantom 
left her mind, as a black cloud passes from the face 
of the sun. 

As they passed the Neptune House, Polly hailed 
them again to ask, ‘AVhat luck?’’ and Ned, as he 
turned to reply, saw through the open door of the 
main room Coots and his son Push sitting with a 
table between them. 

After supper that evening, Edgar Moore, who since 
the accident had not been so frequent a visitor, called. 

Of late the young man’s mind had been much 
troubled ; and while his manner to Maud was as ten- 
der and chivalric as ever, it was evident that his ar- 
dor had been checked, if not very much dampened, 
by some outside influence. 

He remained about an hour, and when he rose to 
go he asked Ned to walk as far as the street cars 
with him, saying: 

‘‘We can talk over some matters as we go along.” 

When they were away from the cottage, Edgar 
took Ned’s arm, and said, as they went slowly on: 


THE PERSECUTION *BEG 1 N§^ 107 

I have heard that you were discharged from 
Morton's.” 

You did not hear it from me,” said Ned; ‘‘for 
while I do not like change, yet the man's a slave who 
is bound to one master. Mr. Morton can get the 
work done by a cheaper man, and I have no right to 
object, nor do I think I have any great reason to feel 
sad.” 

“ I hope not,” said Edgar Moore thoughtfully. “ I 
learned the facts from Mr. Morton this afternoon ; 
but before we talk about him, let me say something 
about myself.” 

“A much pleasanter subject,” laughed Ned, in a 
tremulous voice, that showed how deeply he was 
moved. 

Young Moore went on to tell of his profound love 
for Maud, and his sublime confidence that she loved 
him in return. 

“ I am an only child,” he continued, “ and, as you 
know, my parents are wealthy, and I love and honor 
them. Their existence is wrapped up in me, and 
anything like disobedience on my part would shorten 
their lives. I have told them the story of Maud’s 
life as I learned it from her own dear lips, and I have 
tried to show them how inseparably all my future, 
if it is to be happy, is linked with hers. But birth 
and position stand before everything else with them, 
and they have set their faces against receiving the 
only one on earth that I can make my wife.” 

“ Some parents will do such things,” coughed Ned. 


io8 


MAUD MORTON. 


But, under the circumstances, what would you 
advise? ” 

I am afraid,” said Ned, slowly, that this is a case 
in which I am not competent to advise. Maud's 
happiness is, next to the inborn sense of duty due 
the best mother in the world, the first object of my 
life. Long years ago, when she was a helpless child, 
I took her into my heart, and she has grown there 
till she has become its greater, its better part. You 
are a man of full age, and able for yourself to see 
the lines of your duty. Find them and follow them, 
and if I can see they are to lead to Maud’s happi- 
ness, I will stand by you if it costs me my life.” 

God bless you, Rand,” said Edgar, pressing the 
hand on which he leant, but unable to see or to un- 
derstand the other's emotion. 

When nearing the place where the street cars 
stopped, Edgar Moore brought his companion to a 
halt, and continued, with a changed manner: 

‘‘ And now, as you were the cause, you will no 
doubt be eager to learn why Morton wanted to see 
me this afternoon.” 

I have no fear of anything he may say ; but nat- 
urally enough I am anxious to know why he should 
want to see you about me,” said Ned. 

He told me that he held a mortgage on your 
cottage,” said Edgar, ‘‘and, as a lawyer, he wanted 
me to foreclose it at once, if you did not pay what is 
due.” 


INCREASING TRIALS BRAVELY MET. 


109 


CHAPTER XIIL 

INCREASING TRIALS BRAVELY MET. 

Ned Rand had not had time to think about the 
mortgage for thirty-seven hundred dollars, still due 
on his cottage and the two lots on which it was 
built. 

He had purchased it about three years before, at 
what he considered a low price, and, as he believed, 
on very reasonable terms, from Donald Morton. 

His plan had been to set aside each month forty 
dollars from his salary of one hundred and twenty ; 
and in this way, with the money on hand when the 
purchase was made, he was able to pay off one-half 
the amount with the interest at five per cent, on the 
balance. 

The mortgage was so drawn that at any time, 
after two years, Donald Morton could foreclose. 

Ned objected to this at the time, but his employer 
allayed his fears by assuring him that it was simply 
a matter of form, and that it would make no differ- 
ence, if he did not pay for twenty years, so long as 
the interest did not get in arrears. 

If Mr. Morton wants to foreclose,’' said Ned, 
startled by what Edgar Moore told him, ‘‘ I do not 
see how I can well prevent him. I have only his 


no 


MAUD MORTON. 


verbal promise that all would be right till I paid the 
balance in my own way, and I must confess that I 
am at a loss to account for his conduct.” 

He is a hard, cruel man to those whom he does 
not like,” said Edgar Moore. 

But I have given him no reason to dislike me.” 

Of that I am very sure ; but it is certain that he 
imagines you have wronged him in some way — ” 

Wronged him ! ” repeated Ned; and he was on 
the point of telling about Morton’s offer of marriage 
to Maud, but he checked himself and added : The 
wrong any man suffers at my hands must certainly 
bo imaginary.” 

I was about to say that I have not of my own 
the amount which you will need to save your home,” 
continued Edgar Moore. ^^But the day after to- 
morrow a wealthy bachelor friend of mine, now in 
Washington, will return to the city, and I can get 
him to take up the mortgage, and arrange for you 
to make him a new one on your own terms. I 
wanted you to know how Morton stood toward you, 
and the professional part he wants me to play. But 
I can assure you, you have no reason to feel un- 
easy.” 

Ned thanked the young lawyer, and, with a 
heavier heart than he had carried for many a year, 
he returned to the cottage ; but as neither his mo- 
ther nor Maud could help him with this new trou- 
ble, he kept it to himself. 

There is an adage that “ It never rains but it 


INCREASING TRIALS BRAVELY MET. 


Ill 


pours/' and still another which says that ‘‘ Misfor- 
tunes come in droves." 

Ned Rand’s case went to prove that there was 
much truth in these sayings. 

There were in New York and Brooklyn a number 
of firms that manufactured wall papers, and these 
Ned made up his mind to visit in turn the next day. 

From force of habit he was up very early; and, 
when he was about to start off, his mother and Maud 
kissed him and wished him good luck in so earnest 
a way as to make him feel that failure was out of the 
question. 

Edgar Moore’s promise to attend to the mortgage 
took a great load off Ned’s mind, though it did not 
prevent his asking himself at every turn : 

What has brought about this sudden change in 
Mr. Morton?" 

He could not answer this; but it was a great com- 
fort for him to know that he was not himself in any 
way to blame for Morton’s sudden hate. 

The first place he went to was a factory, the pro- 
prietor of which, not six months before, had offered 
him a larger salary if he would leave Morton’s em- 
ploy. 

This man met Ned very coldly, and told him there 
was no vacancy in his establishment. 

‘"Nor," said he, in reply to Ned’s question, ‘'do I 
know of any factory where you can get a place." 

Ned did not notice the emphasis the man put on 
the *^you.'' How could he know that the rumor had 


112 


MAUD MORTON. 


already spread, far and wide, that he was suspected 
of having had a hand in the attempted burglary of 
Morton’s house ? 

The newspapers, that said that Mr. Morton sus- 
pected some trusted people in his own employ, also 
announced Ned’s discharge, and it was done in an 
insinuating way far more damaging than a direct ac- 
cusation. 

To saye car fare — for the payments on the cottage 
prevented his ever having much money ahead — 
Ned walked from place to place in the hope of find- 
ing work. 

Everywhere he was met with the same abrupt re- 
fusals. 

Even the workmen of his acquaintance whom he 
met treated him with a coldness that perplexed and 
pained him, though he was too proud to ask the 
cause of the change. 

It was after the usual hour when he reached home, 
his feet sore and his brave heart heavier than he 
would be willing to confess even to himself. 

He did not need to tell his mother and Maud that 
he had not been successful. They read it in his ex- 
pressive face the instant he opened the door. 

As if to banish his disappointment, Maud took 
both his hands and cried out joyously: 

Oh, Brother Ned, congratulate me ! ” 

‘‘Upon my word, Maud, I should congratulate 
myself,” said Ned, his cares vanishing at sight of her 
beautiful face, “ at having you and mother to make 


INCREASING TRIALS BRAVELY MET. II3 

me feel that if not so rich as Morton, I have ten 
thousand more reasons for being happy.'’ 

Do I look like a professor, brother? ” asked Maud, 
drawing up her exquisite, lithe form and trying to 
look very dignified. 

‘‘Well, sister,” said Ned, unable to keep from 
laughing, “at a venture, I should say that you do 
not look like a professor.” 

“Yet I am one to-day. I signed articles of agree- 
ment that make me professor of drawing and de- 
signing at the Colville Institute*; compensation fifty 
dollars a month, and Saturdays all to myself. I go 
to work — that's a better phrase than ‘ I assume the 
duties of the position’ — to-morrow. So now, you 
dear, old, brave boy, we'll have supper and then 
some music, and we’ll just be as happy as if, by some 
miracle, we suddenly found ourselves as rich as Don- 
ald Morton.” 

“ Which we wouldn’t want to be if we had, at the 
same time, to be as mean,” said Mrs. Rand. 

There was no resisting the contagious spirits of 
Maud and his mother, and so, for the rest of the 
evening, Ned was as happy as if no break or fall had 
come to the deep, smooth current of his life. 

The next morning Maud, with a brave, hopeful 
heart, went off to work, and Ned went off to seek 
work. 

He decided to try Brooklyn, where there were 
several large factories, such as he had been accustom- 
ed to superintend. 


MAUD MORTON. 


II4 

He did not expect now to find such a place and at 
such a salary as he had recently been forced to sur= 
render ; but his mind was made up to take any place 
that offered, for the thought of being idle filled him 
with horror. He gave two days to Brooklyn, but 
without getting any more encouragement than he 
had in New York. 

Trade was brisk; skilled workmen were in de- 
mand, and — he could not understand it. 

Perplexed and just the least bit discouraged, Ned 
was going over the East River on the Thirty -second 
Street ferry to New York, when he heard his name 
called, and looking up he saw Coots standing before 
him. 

Ned was aware that this man was on intimate 
terms with Donald Morton, but beyond that he knew 
absolutely nothing about him, save that he was per- 
sonally repulsive. 

There were times when Ned watched Coots, won- 
dering the while where he had seen him before, and 
associating him in his mind with Maud, without 
being at all able to tell where he had met him in the 
long-gone past, or if he had ever seen him before he 
appeared so suddenly and mysteriously at Morton’s 
factory. 

Sorry to hearyou’re out of a job,” said Coots, as 
he took a seat beside Ned. 

''Thanks for your sympathy,” said Ned, with 
a manner which, without being at all rude, plainly 
showed that he was not eager to talk. 


INCREASING TRIALS BRAVELY MET. 


II5 


^‘That’s the way with Morton,” continLied Coots, 
not at all abashed. Just as soon as he thinks a man 
is in his way he goes to work and kicks him out of it. 
But, if you knew just what I know” — here Coots 
stopped and shook with dumb laughter — you’d 
make Donald Morton the sickest man between Can- 
ada and the Gulf.” 

But I have no desire to make him sick,” said 
Ned. 

Well, blow me, but that’s funny ! ” 

I can’t see where the fun comes in.” 

^^Why, I’ll tell you where the fun comes in. It 
comes in in a man’s not bein’ ready to strike back 
at the feller that kicks him out of work, an’ then 
keeps him out of work by a blastin’ of his character 
an’ a blackenin’ of his good name. An’ that’s just 
what Donald Morton has done an’ is a-doin’ to you.” 

'G don’t understand you,” said Ned. 

I didn’t suppose you would; but, if you don’t 
object. I’ll make myself plainer.” 

If you can tell me anything about myself that I 
do not know, I shall be glad to listen.” 

I won’t pretend to tell you anythink about yer- 
sel that you don’t know, but I can tell you what 
Donald Morton is trying to make other people be- 
lieve about you. It’s a cussed shame that it ain’t 
stopped.” 

What is that? ” 

Why, that you are mixed up with the gang that 
tried to rob his house, an’ which, he sez, shot him. 


MAUD MORTON, 


1 16 

Oh, don’t get mad. I’m yer friend so far that I want 
you to know the truth about these stories, an’ I’m 
prepared to prove what I say.” 

Coots took a number of newspaper clippings from 
an old pocket-book, and handing them in regular or- 
der to Ned, asked him to read. 

These extracts told of the robbery and shooting, 
and said very plainly that Mr. Morton suspected 
some of his most trusted employees, but that he was 
too generous to prosecute. 

“Perhaps,” read one statement, “we shall learn who the 
guilty parties are by the discharges Mr. Morton must soon 
make.” 

Following this. Coots handed Ned a clipping, which 
read: 

“ Edward Rand, for many years the capable superintendent 
of Morton’s great paper factory, and his most trusted lieuten- 
ant, has been discharged. There is a great mystery about 
this, and Mr. Morton owes it to justice to let the public into 
his secret.” 

‘'My God!” exclaimed Ned, as the fragment of 
paper fluttered from his hand to the cabin floor. 

“ Do you understand what them papers say ? ” 
asked Coots. 

“Yes; only too well.” 

“ They’re agin you ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ An’ try in’ to make believe you are a thief ? Don’t 
scowl at me. It ain’t my doin’s.” 

“Whose, then ? ” 

“ Ned Rand, can’t you guess ? ” 


INCREASING TRIALS BRAVELY MET. II7 

‘‘ If I could, I wouldn’t ask you.” 

‘'It’s Morton.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“Ah, Mr. Rand, if I was to tell you that, I’d have 
to tell you all,” said Coots, smacking his lips and 
shaking his head. 

“To tell me all? ” repeated Ned. 

“Yes, every think from the beginning to the end. 
About you, an’ about Morton, an’ more particular 
about hery 

“ Who do you mean by ‘ her’ ? ” 

“ Your adopted sister.” 

“ And what do you know about her that I should 
not know ? ” asked Ned, indignantly. 

“Nothin’ that ain’t to her credit and that you 
shouldn’t know ; but this ain’t the time nor place. 
Oh, I can read you, an’ I know you ain’t got no faith 
in me, but some day you’ll recall the hint I’m a givin’ 
you now, an’ wonder why you didn’t guess the whole 
truth before,” said Coots, with a manner that was at 
once impressive and oracular. 

Ned did not speak during the rest of the passage 
to the New York side. 

He did not like this man, and he did not believe 
that he had half the knowledge he pretended to, yet 
he could not deny that Coots had been meeting Don- 
ald Morton as an equal. 


ii8 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ANOTHER SEVERE BLOW. 

Coots did not part company with Ned Rand till 
they reached the banks of the Harlem river. 

On the v/ay he said, more than once : 

Morton has turned agin you r now you ought to 
turn agin him.'' 

Ned attempted no comment. He was so stunned 
by the revelation made to him by Coots, and the 
truth of which became more evident every moment, 
that he could think of nothing else. 

He now saw a good reason for the cold reception 
he had met with, not only from the proprietors of 
factories, but from his fellow-workmen. 

A feeling of horror, such as a guilty man never 
experienced, chilled Ned’s heart ; and as he hurried 
along he imagined that every one he saw looked at 
him, and said, mentally : 

“There goes the man that tried to rob and murder 
his employer." 

“Mebbe some day I’ll put you on Morton’s 
track,’' said Coots, when they had reached a point 
where their paths parted. “ In the meantime watch 
out for him ; he means to get you out of the 
way." 


ANOTHER SEVERE BLOW. 


II9 

‘‘ But why should he mean to get me out of the 
way ? ” asked Ned. 

Ah ! I wish I could tell you ; but I can’t.’' 

Coots waved his hand and disappeared down the 
river bank in the direction of the Neptune House. 

It was near dark when Ned got back to the cot- 
tage, and as he went up through the little flower 
garden that had given him such delight in the past, 
he saw Maud standing framed like a beautiful pic- 
ture in the vine-covered porch. 

Poor boy ! ” she exclaimed, as she ran to meet 
him with extended hands. ‘‘You look very tired.’' 

“ I must confess, Maud, I was a bit tired till I 
got within sight of home,” said Ned, retaining her 
hand as they went up the steps ; “ but I am all right 
again.” 

His mother greeted him as usual, but he could see 
that there was some new trouble on her mind. 

He followed her into the kitchen, and in a whisper 
asked her what had happened since he left. 

“ I cannot tell you now, dear Ned,” said his mother. 
“ Wait till Maud has gone to bed.” 

With increasing anxiety Ned waited until Maud 
had retired, and then his mother came to him on tip- 
toe, and whispered, as she took his hand and sat 
down beside him : 

“Did you hear anything about the mortgage, 
Ned?” 

“The mortgage ?” he repeated, with a gasp. 

“Yes, my boy.” 


120 


MAUD MORTON. 


He told her what Edgar Moore had said, and of 
his promise to have a friend assume the claim. 

am very much afraid/' said Mrs. Rand/' that 
Mr. Moore has forgotten all about his promise.” 

" What makes you think so ? ” 

" A man came here this afternoon and demanded 
the money. I told him you were away, and I fur- 
ther explained that I was very sure that you could 
not pay at this time. Then he sat down and wrote a 
letter to you, which he left with me. Here it is;” 
and his mother took the letter from her pocket and 
handed it to him. 

Ned tore off the envelope and read aloud: 

“Edward Rand, Esq.— D ea?’ Si?': As attorney in the 
case, my client, Mr. Donald Morton, desired me to call here 
to-day and make a demand for the sum of three thousand 
seven hundred dollars ($3, 7C0) due on a mortgage made to him. 
by you three years ago, and covering the lots and premises 
known as ‘Lilac Villa,’ in the district of Harlem, Westchester 
county, New York. 

“ I am very sorry that you are not present to-day, for I am 
ordered to foreclose at half-past ten to-morrow morning, if you 
are not then prepared to pay the sum, now so long overdue. 

“ Regretting that there is no other alternative left me, I am, 
dear sir, Yours truly, Peter Gurly, 

“October 9, 1870. “Attorney in the case.” 

" It is very clear to me that Mr. Moore has forgot 
all about his promise,” said Mrs. Rand, when her son 
had read over this startling communication a second 
time. 

"I don't understand it,” said Ned. "I cannot 
think that Mr. Moore could either violate or forget 


ANOTHER SEVERE BLOW. 


I2I 


his promise. I shall go to his house early in the 
morning and see about it. In the meantime it may 
be better^ to say nothing about it to Maud. She has 
to work, and it would distract her to have this on 
her mind.’' 

But, my boy, you must not let it distract you. 
Even if we lose all we own, so long as we have health 
we should not feel down-hearted. If Mr. Morton 
wants the cottage, surely he will pay you all you 
have spent on it, for the property is worth a great 
deal more than when we bought it.” 

‘‘ You are right, mother; we should not give up so 
long as health and love remain. Don't let this worry 
you. All will come out right in the end.” 

He kissed her, and they went to their respective 
rooms, but though very brave before each other, 
neither got much sleep that night. 

Cautioning his mother not to worry Maud with 
their troubles till it became unavoidable, Ned started 
off, after an early breakfast, to find Edgar Moore. 

It was half-past seven when he reached that young 
gentleman’s home on the most fashionable part of 
Fifth Avenue, but the grand street was so deserted, 
and the houses looked so closed up and reserved and 
sleepy, that he decided to walk up and down for a 
half hour before ringing the bell. 

When at length he found himself in the open door 
asking a servant if he could see Mr. Moore, there 
was that in the girl’s manner and in the atmosphere 
of the place that chilled him. 


122 


MAUD MORTON. 


The servant led him into a reception room, took 
his name and disappeared noiselessly. 

In a few minutes a stately old gentleman, with an 
expression of great anxiety on his face, came in and 
said to Ned: 

'' I am Mr. Moore. Do you wish to see me? ” 

I think, sir,’’ replied Ned, the girl misunderstood 
me. I wished to see your son;” and then, from the 
fullness of his anxious heart, he told why he had come. 

I regret to have to tell you,” said the old gentle- 
man, with a sigh, “that yesterday morning, while 
trying to stop a runaway team, my son was thrown 
to the pavement and so seriously injured that the 
doctors despair of his life. This must be his excuse 
for not carrying out his promise.” 

Ned expressed his profound regret for the acci- 
dent that had befallen his friend, and then left the 
house. 

He must have thought his own affairs desperate 
indeed, when, as a last resource, he made up his mind 
to see Donald Morton. 

His old employer’s house was not far from Mr. 
Moore’s, and thither he hastened. 

The old housekeeper, Mrs. Belton, answered the 
bell. 

Ned had often seen her before, and she had always 
treated him with the greatest respect, but now she 
not only did not reach out her hand, but she acted 
as if she had never seen the young man before and 
was quite willing never to see him again. 


ANOTHER SEVERE BLOW. 


123 


You want to see Mr. Morton, eh ? Well, I’ll see 
if he wants to see you.” 

This was Mrs. Belton’s reply to Ned’s request, as 
she closed the door, leaving him standing on the out- 
side. 

In a few minutes Mrs. Belton came back, looking 
even more stern than before. 

“ Mr. Morton is busy and asks to be excused,” she 
said. 

‘‘ I shall only detain him a moment, Mrs. Belton,” 
urged Ned. 

‘‘ It’s no use trying ; he won’t see you — of that I 
am convinced,” said the old lady, a sympathy com- 
ing into her not unkindly eyes, as she saw the look 
of pain on Ned’s face. 

Without another word Ned turned away. 

The fates were against him. 

He saw that the beautiful little home, where he had 
enjoyed so much quiet happiness, must go. 

He deplored this serious blow, not at all on his 
own account, but because of his mother and 
Maud. 

How could he know that the gentle girl, whom he 
had saved from death, or even a worse fate, was the 
direct cause of all the misfortunes now falling on his 
head ? 

But had he known the whole truth, it would only 
have increased his devotion, if that were possible. 

He went back to the cottage, to find his mother 
in tears and the officers of the law in charge. 


124 


MAUD MORTON. 


Useless here to detail the method of procedure ; 
suffice it to say that within four days Ned Rand had 
to find another and a humbler home for his mother 
and adopted sister. 


COOTS BECOMES DEFIANT, AND — 


125 


CHAPTER XV. 

COOTS BECOMES DEFIANT, AND 

The feeling of selfish love which at one time Don- 
ald Morton entertained for the beautiful designer at 
his factory gave place first to dread and then to hate, 
as accumulating evidence convinced him that she was 
the daughter of his own brother, whose trust he had 
violated, and the child of the woman for whose sad 
death he was directly responsible. 

He cursed himself for having trusted Coots at first, 
and still more deeply he cursed himself for having 
made a confidant of such a man as Homer Chiswick. 

Yet he felt that he must have some one to help 
him, for he began to doubt his own judgment; and 
he lacked the nerve to carry out the monstrous de- 
signs which he was so skillful in plotting. 

He had come to have a horror of Coots and Chis- 
wick, for he well knew that, sooner or later, one or 
the other, or both, would appear to plague him, and 
he might be powerless to oppose. 

The more he thought about it, the more he became 
convinced that his only safety lay in getting Maud 
out of the way. 

With her dead, he could set Coots, Chiswick and 
every other foe at defiance. 


126 


MAUD MORTON. 


But in the present, as in the past, he knew that he 
could not act alone. 

It was dangerous to hire the co-operation of such 
a man as he now sorely needed, and yet it would be 
more dangerous to go on single-handed. 

Strange, but at this time he had a greater dread of 
Ned Rand than of any one else, and hence his efforts 
to impoverish the young mechanic, and to blast, by 
monstrous insinuations, his fair name. 

He felt that if by any chance Ned could get at 
the truth as to Maud’s ancestry, he would become a 
Hercules in his efforts to redress her wrongs. 

In his desperation Donald Morton sent for a crea- 
ture, a lawyer named Peter Guriy, to meet him at 
the house. 

Peter Guriy was a little, yellow -faced man of fifty- 
five or sixty, with a big beard, a bald head, and a 
fox-like expression of face. 

Pie was the man who had defended successfully 
some of the very worst criminals in New York. He 
had no standing at the bar, for it was generally be- 
lieved that, if he did not actually participate in the 
crimes of his clients, he always made out to get the 
lion’s share of their ill-gotten gains. 

Peter Guriy came, and though we cannot say at 
this time what took place between him and Morton 
at their first interview, the fact that the former had 
been employed in Edgar Moore’s place in the matter 
of the mortgage showed that they had come to some 
sort of an understanding. 


COOTS BECOMES DEFIANT, AND 


127 


For nearly a month after the so-called burglary, 
Coots did not go near the factory, nor did he give 
Morton any evidence of his whereabouts. 

Again the rich man began to feel a sense of se- 
curity, for the hope rose up in his heart that Coots 
and Chiswick had been desperately wounded and 
had crawled away to die. 

He was beginning to draw comfort from this be- 
lief, when one night, just as he was about to go to 
bed, Mrs. Belton came into the library, and said, 
after an apologetic cough : 

'‘Thatsame man’s at the door, Mr, Morton, and he 
says he must see you.” 

^'What man ?” demanded Morton, dropping the 
book he was trying to read, and looking at his house- 
keeper with an expression of alarm, for of late he 
had been in that nervous state which is best describ- 
ed by the phrase, ''feeling as if something awful’s 
going to happen.” 

" His name is Mr. Coots, sir, and he says you’ll be 
sure to see him, for he is an old friend, and has some- 
thing of importance to say to you,” said Mrs. Bel- 
ton, her shrewd eyes reading the mingled expression 
of hate and anger in her employer’s face. 

"As the fellow seems determined, you might as 
well show him in, and then bring in a bottle of brandy. 
This Coots was at one time a good enough fellow, 
but he has become the slave of drink, and the sooner 
it kills him, the better for himself and those he plagues 
with his passion.” 


128 


MAUD MORTON. 


As Donald Morton said this, he tried to look very 
virtuous; and as Mrs. Belton went out to admit 
Coots, she tried to look as if she believed implicitly 
every word he told her. 

’Spose you didn’t ever expect to see me agin,’' 
said Coots, slapping his hat on the table and drop- 
ping into a chair with an emphasis that showed he 
did not think the rich man was conferring on him a 
favor by seeing him at that late hour. 

“ I haven’t had time to think about you. Coots. 
Where have you been this long time ? ” 

As Morton asked the question, he rose and closed 
the library door, and then came back, drew his chair 
nearer to that of his visitor, and sat down. 

I’ve been nursing a sick friend ; but he’s gettin’ 
round all right agin, so I thought I’d come round 
an’ draw a little cash. Ain’t been so hard up since I 
left Australia,” said Coots, speaking in a lower tone, 
but looking even more defiant than when he came in. 

I am always glad to help you. Coots, for I am not 
the man to forget an old friend, but I wish you could 
get some regular work and stick to it.” 

‘‘Donald Morton, when fust I met up with you I 
was rather a decent young man ; at least I had done 
nothing very bad ; but you made me an outlaw an’ 
gave me a horror of steady, reg’lar work,” said 
Coots. 

Looking full into the other’s unsteady eyes, he 
continued : 

“ I served my ’prenticeship under you, an’ now that 


COOTS BECOMES DEFIANT, AND 


129 


Vm a master-mechanic in the ways of crime, I expect 
you to stand by me with the rhino, if the luck goes 
agin me/’ 

Haven’t I stood by you. Coots ? ” 

Yes ; as the wolf stands by the lamb, as the fox 
stands by a hen-house, or a thief by a drunken man 
as has his pockets full of money. Men that hire 
other men to do a murder ain’t never very fond of 
their tools. Come, Donald Morton, you can lie an’ 
play the fine gent to the world, but it won’t go down 
with me. I have committed crimes and served my 
time for them, but I am no murderer or robber of 
my own kin. You can’t say the same' an’ not have 
me tell you that you lie in your heart, an’ in, your 
throat, an’ in j^our tongue. Now, I want money, an’ 
then I’ll talk to you some more — ” 

‘‘Hush, Coots!” whispered Morton, for at that 
instant Mrs. Belton came in, carrying a tray, on 
which were a bottle, glasses, and a silver pitcher con- 
taining water. 

“Anything else, sir?” asked Mrs. Belton, as she 
backed out of the library. 

“Nothing else, thank you. You can go to bed, 
Mrs. Belton ; I will close the front door when the 
gentleman leaves,” said Morton. 

“Good night, sir.” 

“Good night, Mrs. Belton.” 

The housekeeper withdrew and closed the door 
after her, while Morton addressed himself to Coots 
and the contents of the decanter. 


130 


MAUD MORTON 


Here, Coots, you will find this brandy excellent; 
try some/' 

I like brandy as well as the next man, but before 
I touch a drop I want all the ready cash you have 
about you/' 

^^That is only fifty dollars/’ 

Give it to me, and I’ll call at the factory for a 
thousand in the morning. You shot a friend of mine, 
an’ you tried to shoot me; but as you didn’t kill us, 
why, I expect you to pay for the fun. How’s your 
own wound ? ” 

^‘Better,” said Morton, as he counted fifty dollars 
from his pocket-book into Coots’s hand. 

“Do you want to know who shot you? ’’asked 
Coots, with a grin. 

“ I know now.” 

“Then why do you spread the report that you 
suspect Ned Rand ? Why do you hunt that young 
fellow down? Has he ever hurt you ? ” 

“ I spread no reports, Coots.” 

“But you do, an’ I know it. An’ if you don’t 
change mighty quick, an’ let up on Ned Rand, an’ 
do the square thing by the gal you’ve so wronged, 
the world will know it if it costs me my life ! ” cried 
Coots. 

“ Let us drink. Coots, and then talk about that. I 
want to do right.” Here Morton examined the 
brandy bottle, and added : “ Why, Mrs. Belton 

didn’t bring the right stuff. Wait a moment.” 

He left the library, taking the bottle with him. 


COOTS BECOMES DEFIANT, AND — 13I 

He went softly up to his own room, slipped a loaded 
revolver into the pocket of his wrapper, and came 
back again. 

Morton drank a glass, which convinced his visitor 
that the liquor was not poisoned. 

Coots drank again and again — drank till he be- 
came drunk and boisterous and abusive. 

The watchmen outside heard a noise; then the re- 
port of a pistol. 

Again a cry for help rang through the house, and 
again a man lay stretched on the library floor, but 
this time the bullet had finished its deadly work. 

The ex-convict had counted too much on his em- 
ployer's forbearance, and had paid for his temerity 
with his worthless life. 


132 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

EXIT COOTS AND ENTER CHISWICK. 

I SHOT him in self-defense.’' 

These were the words with which Donald Morton 
saluted the officers who crowded into the library. 

Stretched out on the floor lay Coots, with a mur- 
derous-looking knife clutched in his powerful right 
hand, and a round, red spot over his right temple. 

The ex-convict was as dead as Hector. 

From the Central Police Office, to which the news 
was speedily flashed, came detectives and a coroner 
to the scene of the ghastly tragedy. 

Donald Morton was put in a nominal arrest. 

He said that he had killed this man in self-defense, 
and his statement was believed. 

The older officers looked down at the face of the 
dead man, and they recognized the thief and ex-con- 
vict. 

As between the wretched Coots and the wealthy 
Morton there could be but one opinion, at least in 
the minds of men who knew nothing of the inner life 
of either. 

Morton’s story was that he had known Coots when 
he was a respectable young man, and that he had 
been his friend. 


EXIT COOTS AND ENTER CHISWICK. 


133 


In the hope of helping the ex-convict to a better 
life, he — Morton — had befriended him since his return 
to New York some six months before. 

He had advised with Coots, and given him money, 
but all to no avail. 

This night Coots had come to his house drunk, 
and drawing a knife, demanded more money. He 
— Morton — refused, and killed the man, who other- 
wise would have killed him. 

This was the story he told to his servants and to 
the officers of the law, and they believed it without 
question. . 

He expected to be taken to the lock-up, but the 
chief of police, in view of his great wealth, saved 
him from a humiliation which he must have endured 
had he been merely a mechanic. 

Officers were placed about the house, and Donald 
Morton was forbidden to leave ; but as he had no in- 
clination to go out, this could hardly be called an 
imprisonment. 

He went to his own room, and lay down with 
many a groan. 

He was not acting. 

His doctor came, made an examination, and said 
that Mr. Morton was suffering from nervous pros- 
tration. 

Ah, doctors will indeed be skilled when, by feel- 
ing the wrist, they can discover the blood of the 
murderer on the hand ; when, by laying the hand on 
the brow, they can read the thoughts burning within 


t34 


MAUD MORTON. 


the brain ; and when, by looking at the tongue, they 
can see down to the heart and know all its secrets. 

The fact thata noted criminal had been killed in the 
residence of Mr. Donald Morton was known the next 
morning in every house in New York, and in every 
house in the great circle of surrounding cities in 
which a paper was taken. 

The attempt to rob Mr. Morton’s house and to 
murder himself was so recent an event that every 
one recalled it, and every one jumped to the con- 
clusion that the dead ex-convict was in some way 
connected with the former crime. 

What a monster of infamy that Coots must have 
been to attempt the murder of the generous man 
who had so long befriended him, and who had 
tried so hard to redeem him from his vile life.” This 
was the general, the almost unanimous, opinion of 
all who discussed the tragedy,” as it was called. 

Even Coots’s wife was inclined to believe the worst 
of a man who had been anything but a good hus- 
band to her; but, strangely enough. Coots’s children, 
Polly and Push, thought better of the father — per- 
haps it was because they knew so little about him ; 
and they boldly declared, to any who would listen, 
that Morton murdered him. 

The next morning the coroner and a jury which 
he had summoned appeared in the library of Mr. 
Morton’s house to decide how the man, still stiff and 
prone on the floor, had come to his death. 

Although the doors were guarded to keep out the 


EXIT COOTS AND ENTER CHISWICK. 135 

mob gathered on the sidewalks, the hall and library 
were crowded by those who had been admitted. 

There were but few witnesses to examine. 

There was no one there to speak in behalf of the 
dead man. 

Donald Morton and Mrs. Belton, the only persons 
who had seen Coots the night before, gave their evi- 
dence ; and from this evidence the jury decided, 
without an instant’s discussion, that the shot that 
killed the ex-convict was fired in self-defense. 

Again Donald Morton was a free man — free in 
more senses than one, for a great danger had been 
taken from his life-path. 

The officers of the law were about to remove the 
body to the station-house, from which point it was 
to have been carried to the Potter’s Field, when a 
young woman, plainly clad, entered from the hall, 
followed by a rough-looking young man. 

“ This man,” said Polly Wogley, dropping on one 
knee and laying her hand on the cold brow, ‘‘was 
my father and the father of this young man — my 
brother. Y ou call him a criminal, but we know that it 
was the man who killed him that made him what he 
was. . The future will prove all this. But what we 
want now is the consent of the law to take him from 
here and to bury him in our own way.” 

“That,” added Push, with burning eyes and an 
angry scowl that convinced Morton that a younger 
and a more desperate Coots survived — “ that, an’ to 
say that the end of this isn't nigh in sight yet.” 


T36 


MAUD MORTON. 


The children were granted permission to bury the 
body of their father ; and, as they had come with 
an undertaker, the dead Coots was at once taken to 
the Neptune House. 

Congratulations were tendered to Donald Morton 
by the officers and the newspaper reporters, and by 
many business men, who had called to express their 
sympathy. 

Gradually the crowd filed out, and Morton was 
left alone. 

The library was closed, and he was sitting in a 
little reception-room to the left of the hall, weighing 
the difficulties that yet confronted him, when a man 
with long hair and a heavy beard, who had concealed 
himself behind the curtains in the library, came and 
stood in the doorway and looked in. 

Don’t you know me, Mr. Morton ?” asked the man. 

I — I do not ! gasped Morton. 

The man came into the room, and as he closed the 
door behind him he took off his wig and false beard, 
revealing the thin, olive face and glittering black eyes 
of Homer Chiswick. 

Coots was dead, but here, confronting him, stood 
a man more to be dreaded than a thousand blunder- 
ers like CootSo 

With a desperate effort Morton made as if he 
would extend his hand, but it fell like lead by his 
side. Still he managed to say : 

Why, Chiswick, where have you been ? ” 

‘‘ Away ; but I did not go quite as far as you de- 


EXIT COOTS AND ENTER CHISWICK. 


137 


sired,” replied Chiswick, putting the disguise into 
his coat pocket, and* taking a chair so that he could 
face the man now actually cowering before him. 
do not understand you.” 

“ If you understood me, you would have acted 
differently. You intended to send me to the grave, 
and for weeks I have stood gasping on its gloomy 
edge. But I am back, and I am now able to get 
along without Coots,” said Chiswick, with a smile 
that was positively devilish in its cool malignity and 
burning scorn. 

Without giving the other a chance to make a com- 
ment, he continued, in the same freezing tones: 

“We are henceforth opposed in a desperate game. 
We understand each other. Your hand is known to 
me ; if you knew my hand, you would give up the 
struggle at once. Oh ! you need not affect anger, 
for you do not feel it; your cowardly heart is throb- 
bing at this moment as if you were a hunted hare, 
with no cover in sight, and the hounds close behind 
you. You are armed. I see your fingers clutching 
the hilt of that pistol in your wrapper pocket, but 
so soon after last night’s murder you have hot the 
nerve to commit another — no, not though you were 
sure that it would save you from the doom which 
you so richly merit.” 

“ My God, man!” broke in Donald Morton, “what 
do you want ? ” 

“ I am hereto tell you what I want, and to demand 
— do you hear ? — to demand that you obey me.” 


MAUD MORTON. 


138 

Go on, sir,” stammered Morton. 

‘‘You must transfer to me the full value of the 
property of which you have so long defrauded your 
niece, and then you must use all your influence to 
make her my wife. Do this, and I shall destroy the 
damning evidence I hold against you. Refuse to 
do it, and I shall show you to the world as the fore- 
most criminal monster in all its records,” said Chis- 
wick, with an awful oath. 

Often during his long career of infamy, Donald 
Morton asked himself what he would do in case he 
was discovered. 

He was constantly imagining dangers and planning 
to guard against them, but he had never conceived 
himself in such a position as this. 

Where he could not act the lion, he was quite 
ready to play the fox ; and it needed no deliberation to 
convince him that the latter was now the proper role. 

“ Mr. Chiswick,” he began, with well-assumed sur- 
prise, “you amaze me. I have given you no reason 
for. this cruel treatment. You know that I have 
been your friend, and while you seem to think that 
1 have tried to injure you, I am ready to swear to 
my entire innocence.” 

“ Of course you are ready to swear,” sneered Chis- 
wick. 

“ I am in no mood to be insulted, Chiswick, and if 
your mind was not disturbed, you would not attempt 
it. I solemnly declare that I know not why you left 
me or where you went to ; and when asked about it, 


EXIT COOTS AND ENTER CHISWICK. 


139 


I said that you had gone away to enjoy a well- 
earned vacation. Let me say here that I did not 
mean to harm you that night, though I was con- 
vinced that you were working against me with Coots. 
Now, I propose that you come back and resume your 
old position. I am ready to pay you any salary you 
may demand, and if you can win the young lady whom 
you call my niece, I shall endow her with a fortune 
ample for you and her. We can work together, 
and as I am single and childless, when I come to die, 
my property will be yours.” 

This was said with such an assumption of candor 
that for the moment the younger man was ready to 
yield ; but he withdrew his hand and said : 

‘^How can I trust a man who has succeeded only 
by invoking the aid of every crime forbidden in the 
decalogue?” 

Chiswick, if you wish to help yourself, you must 
begin by treating me with respect,” said Morton, 
with affected dignity. 

With respect?” sneered Chiswick. 

^‘That is what I said.” 

But I am not accustomed to act contrary to my 
feelings.” 

‘‘That is the only way you do act.” Morton's 
courage was coming as he saw the other wavering, 
and he continued : “ If all you claim to know against 
me were true, and you were to declare it tcJ the 
world, and you were so far believed that I was 
hanged, how would that benefit your fortunes? ” 


140 


MAUD MORTON. 


It might not benefit my fortunes, but to men of 
my temperament there is something dearer than 
dollars,” said Chiswick. 

''And what is that, pray?” 

" Revenge ! ” 

" Nonsense ! I thought you had more sense, and 
I am sure that you are making another attempt to 
do what you failed in before.” 

"And in what did I fail, Mr. Morton ? ” 

"You failed to deceive me.” 

"To deceive you! Why, your life has been one 
constant role of deception, till at last it has come to 
this, that you deceive yourself more than any one 
else could do — ” 

" Stop, Chiswick. Let me ask you a question.” 

"Goon.” 

"1 have had a detective following you for months. 
I know all about your conduct for that time, and 1 
have in my hands evidence that would send you to 
the penitentiary at once. Now, will you join me 
and accept my offer, or will you declare war against 
me? Let me remind you I am a hard man to fight.” 

" But how can I trust you after what has passed ? ” 

" As to that,” said Morton, beginning to feel that 
he was again master of the situation, " in view of 
what has passed you can trust me quite as well as I 
can you ; but for myself I am willing to forget the 
past and try it again.” 


DARK DAYS FOR NED RAND. 


141 


CHAPTER XVII. 

DARK DAYS FOR NED RAND. 

not despair, dear brother,” said Maud, com- 
ing behind Ned’s chair and laying her hands on his 
shoulders. Let the cottage go. It was only a hap- 
py home because we were happy in it. I feel that 
we could never be happy here again. Near the 
school where I teach there are some charming little 
flats to let. I examined them to-day, and as the rent 
is only fifteen dollars a month, I told the agent that 
we would take the third-story front. It has three 
bedrooms, a bathroom, a gem of a kitchen, and a 
cozy little apartment that will do for dining-room 
and parlor. Why, bless you, Ned, we’ll soon forget 
our troubles there. Come, cheer up ! ” 

She bent over and kissed him, and that kiss, like 
the touch of the prophet’s wand on the parched 
rock, brought the waters of comfort to his sight and 
filled his heart with hope. 

am a fool to give up,” he said, catching the 
little hands that still rested on his shoulders. '' It is 
not the loss of the cottage from which we must 
move to-day that troubles me ; it is the loss of repu- 
tation — the fact that men believe evil of me.” 

''But,” she urged, "the loss of reputation is noth- 


142 


MAUD MORTON. 


ing to the loss of character. Reputation is the 
world’s opinion ; character is what we actually are. 
The noblest men that ever lived have had in their 
day the worst reputations, but they nobly lived them 
down. The worst men, as you and I know, have 
often excellent reputations ; but time discovers them 
for what they are. Think, dear Ned, is there any 
living man with whom you would be willing to 
change places?” 

None, Maud,” he replied. And he pressed the 
little hands as the thought filled his soul that to be 
any other man would be not to know her. 

“You have health and mother and — ^me? ” 

“Yes! yes! thank God !” he exclaimed, devoutly. 

Ah, Ned Rand, black indeed would be the cloud 
that her presence could not dispel, and jarring would 
be the discords of your life which her words could 
not make harmonious and her dear voice musical. 

What was the loss of everything, so that she re- 
mained? What man living was so rich as he in the 
possession of this love ? 

He was in no mood to reason that it was a sister’s 
love, and that to her, at least, the impossible gulf of 
kinship yawned between them. 

To analyze the cause of our joy is often to destroy it. 

He rose, caught her to his breast, and kissed her ' 
as he had never done before, saying, in a gentle, 
mellow tone, that must have found an instinctive 
echo in her woman’s heart: 

“ My darling, your love shames me back to man- 


DARK DAYS FOR NED RAND. 


143 


hood and to a fuller appreciation of the blessings 
that are left.” 

Mrs. Rand, when left a widow with her boy, had 
developed a character for industry, hopefulness and 
self-reliance that now displayed itself with all the 
old-time vigor and nobility. 

Her son’s reverses acted on her like a bugle blast 
on a retired charger, filling her with the strength and 
resolve of other days. 

It must not be imagined that Ned’s was in any 
sense a weak or a dependent nature. Above every- 
thing else, he was simple, brave and manly ; but he 
was dazed for a while by the suddenness of the blow 
that had fallen on him, but, above all, by the vague 
yet horrible charges against his good name — charges 
that he was as powerless to refute as he would have 
been to rid himself of his shadow. 

The cottage had passed into the hands of a stran- 
ger, and this was the last day for them to remain in 
occupation. As it was a Saturday, Maud had no 
school, and so she could help with the moving. 

It was decided to take the flat ; and now that there 
was something to do, Ned set to work with that 
cheerfulness and energy that had always distinguish- 
ed him. 

Before night they were established in their new 
home, and it was near Sunday morning before the 
three stopped putting down carpets and hanging up 
pictures, and all declared that the latter would have 
made a barn look like home. 


144 


MAUD MORTON. 


Of all the money Ned put into the cottage, he got 
back not one cent. The place was sold by the 
sheriff, and the lawyer, Peter Guriy, bid it in for the 
amount of Morton s mortgage and the expenses of 
getting possession. 

Maud showed, with a pencil and paper to prove 
her statement, that her salary of fifty dollars a month 
would be sufficient to pay the rent and keep them in 
comparative comfort, no matter how long Ned was 
out of a place. 

But it was not in Ned’s nature to remain satisfied 
with this arrangement. To a man accustomed to 
work, enforced idleness is a constant torture. Par- 
ticularly is this the case when the pressing need for 
wages is felt. 

He saw that it would be folly to continue the 
search for employment in the wall-paper factories, 
where his skill and experience would be of the most 
value. 

He was well educated, having gained his know- 
ledge in the hard but thorough school of self-train- 
ing. 

He was a natural mechanic, and he had that adapt- 
ability peculiar to the thorough American, who soon 
becomes skilled in whatever he undertakes. 

He inserted an advertisement in the papers, but 
without success, for it was a period of commercial 
depression ; and he studiously read the columns of 
'^wants'' every morning, in the hope of finding a 
place that he could fill. 


DARK DAYS FOR NED RAND. 


145 


Yet long weeks of agony passed, and Ned wore 
out his last pair of shoes in the vain effort to find 
work. 

It was while looking over the ‘‘ want ” columns 
one morning that his eyes fell on the account of the 
killing of Coots. 

Ned was sorry and surprised ; for, while he did 
not believe Coots to be a good man, he had a feeling 
bordering on respect for Mrs. Wogley and her daugh- 
ter, whose strange story had been told him by the 
latter. 

As he was walking the streets about noon that day, 
with no objective point in view, he was startled by 
hearing a woman call his name, and, looking up, he 
found himself face to face with Polly. 

He took her extended hand and told her how sorry 
he was for the trouble that had come to her ; and re- 
calling her kindness when Maud was rescued from 
the river, he asked if there was anything he could 
do for her. 

'‘Only to come to the funeral to-morrow,” said 
Polly. Then, after a pause, she took a step nearer 
and whispered: " Ned Rand, your old boss is a mur- 
derer ! ” 

"Mr. Morton ? ” 

"Yes; Mr. Donald Morton. He is a murderer; 
and some day the whole truth will come out. I don’t 
know all, but I know a great deal, and when I learn 
more he’ll find it out.” 

" I am afraid Mr. Morton is a bad man,” said Ned, 


146 


MAUD MORTON. 


cautiously, ^^but I hope he’s not so bad as you 
think.” 

He’s worse than I dare think,” said Polly, quicks 
ly. ‘‘My father was not what you nor me would 
call a good man, but it was Morton that led him first 
astray, and my mother knows it. And, more than 
that, my mother knows where Morton’s wife is liv- 
ing to-day, and she’s ’most sure that she’s found out 
his son.” 

“ His son, Polly ! ” exclaimed Ned. 

“Yes; he has a wife and a son; but the world thinks 
him a single man, just as the world thinks him good. 
Wouldn’t it be a God’s justice,” she continued, in a 
chilling whisper, “ if the son that he cast off was to 
come back and blast his life, as the lightning darts 
from heaven upon the man that defies it?” 

Without waiting for Ned’s reply, Polly turned and 
hurried away, leaving him chilled and confused. 

The next day Ned went to the Neptune House to 
show by his presence at the funeral his respect for 
Polly and her mother. 

Mrs. Wogley, beyond a sterner expression on her 
strong face, gave no sign of grief for the loss — if 
loss it might be called — of the husband who had 
cursed her life, and who would have ruined it but 
for her own strength of character. 

The flag over the floating house was at half mast, 
and a crowd of villainous-looking men gathered in 
the main room where the coffin rested. These were 
the dead man’s associates in crime. 


DARK DAYS FOR NED RAND. 


147 


Among the crowd there was a number of detec- 
tives, and Chiswick was also there, disguised as when 
he startled Donald Morton the day before. 

Peter Guriy, the thieves’ lawyer, was also present, 
and he showed a great desire to be friendly with 
Ned, though he received no encouragement. 

Push Wogley’s face was the only one that showed 
no sorrow ; it would be a mistake to say that it did 
not show feeling. 

Again and again he came over to look at the dead 
man, and to turn away with such a glitter in his eyes 
and such a scowl on his low, bulging brows as could 
not pass unnoticed. 

There were no religious services. Not a syllable 
of regret was spoken when the coffin was carried 
out by four thieves to the waiting hearse. 

Polly wanted Ned to ride in one of the carriages 
to the cemetery ; but he excused himself, saying that 
he had a fever and a headache. 

Pie told the truth. He went home that evening 
reeling like a drunken man. 

The moment his mother and Maud saw him they 
knew he was ill, and despite his protests they pre- 
vailed on him to lie down. 

He undressed and went to bed, little thinking that, 
like a Roman gladiator, he was entering the arena 
to battle with death. 

But even had he known that it was to be a strug- 
gle with death, he would not have held back from 
fear, particularly if he could have had some assur- 


MAUD MORTON. 


148 

ance that his trials might result to the advantage ot 
those he loved. 

He assured Maud and his mother that his only 
trouble was a slight cold. 

“A slight cold, dear Ned,” sighed Maud, as, after 
helping him off with his torn, worn shoes, she held 
them up to the light. “ One less strong would have 
his death of cold, if forced to wear these.” 

That night she took Ned’s shoes to her own room 
and she looked at them again till the tears she could 
not repress hid them from her eyes. 

Oh, Ned,”' she sobbed, “only to think that you, 
so good, so brave and so generous, should be forced 
to this ! In my first memory of you, you took the 
coat from your own shoulders to shield me — a weak, 
helpless, motherless child — from the storm. Oh, 
what can I do to help you, to show you my love in 
this, the hour of your great trials?” 

Not knowing what answer to give to this, she fell 
upon her knees and asked the Father of all to direct 
her. 


maud’s temptation. 


149 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

M A U d’s temptation. 

Before morning Ned Rand had developed a 
severe case of brain fever, and was raving like a 
maniac. 

He had caught a heavy cold, and this, with his 
great mental anxiety and highly sensitive nature, 
had brought him low, as such troubles might not 
have brought a weaker or less honorable person. 

Mrs. Rand an-d Maud sat up with him all night, 
and early the following morning a doctor was call- 
ed in. 

The doctor examined the patient, and said, as he 
prepared to write a prescription : 

Mrs. Rand, your son should be sent to a hos- 
pital.” 

Never!” replied Mrs. Rand, who had the gene- 
ral prejudice against such institutions. I can nurse 
him as no one else can.” 

V ery well ; but as this fever develops he will need 
such restraint as only trained male nurses can give. 
It will be impossible for you to manage him. He 
may destroy everything when the impulse is on him, 
for he is a powerful man,” said Dr. Kenworthy. 

“Ah!” she replied, “my boy loves his sister and 


150 


MAUD MORTON. 


me too well to think harm to us, much less to do 

if 

If he were in his senses there would be no dan- 
ger; but as you have called me in this case you must 
do as I say, or let me withdraw,’' said the doctor, 
with great decision. 

Mrs. Rand agreed at length to do just as the doc- 
tor ordered, only that she would not let Ned be sent 
to the hospital; which implied a distinction, and a 
decided difference. 

“ I know a bright, intelligent young man, who is now 
disengaged, and who, some years ago, graduated as 
a doctor, but he never practiced. I am sure he will 
come here for a week or two, and I am equally sure 
that his price will be very reasonable," said the doc- 
tor. 

Although Mrs. Rand and Maud had but little 
money at their command, yet this was no time to 
consider expense, so they told the doctor to send the 
nurse. 

The doctor left, after telling Mrs. Rand how to 
give the medicine for which Maud had gone out to 
the nearest drug store. 

It was nearly an hour before she returned, and 
then, to her great surprise, she found Homer Chis- 
wick installed as Ned’s nurse. 

‘‘I am glad to be here," he said, ‘Tor I think you 
will find me of more use than an ordinary nurse. 
Dr. Kenworthy is an old friend. It was he who got 
me employment with that wretch, Donald Morton. 


maud’s temptation. 


I5I 

For the past week my headquarters have been at the 
doctors house, and I must thank him for sending me 
to care for your noble brother.” 

Chiswick spoke in the low, gentle voice befitting 
one who fully realized the importance of his posi- 
tion. 

Maud, after the first glance, did not dare to look 
at him. 

She should and did feel grateful to him for having, 
as she believed, saved her life. 

In his vicinity, she had been drawn irresistibly 
toward this man. She felt the influence he exer- 
cised over her, and every time she was freed from 
his presence she made up her mind to avoid him in 
the future, if that were possible. 

But here he was, ready to take up his abode in the 
little flat. She shuddered at the thought, and it was 
only when she reasoned that Chiswick’s presence 
might be essential to her brother’s life that she be- 
came reconciled. 

With the light step, quick eye and ready hand of 
one accustomed to such work, Chiswick made the 
invalid comfortable in bed, administered the medicine 
which Maud brought, and then said to Mrs. Rand: 

‘‘Darkness and quiet are very necessary to the 
patient.” 

“And you think he will get well?” asked the 
anxious mother, who from the first had conceived an 
exalted idea of this young man’s abilities, which she 
believed to be proportioned to his satanic beauty. 


152 


MAUD MORTON. 


^'Mr. Rand is a very strong- man,” said Chiswick. 

He has youth, an unimpaired constitution, and good 
care on his side. He must recover, but it will be 
some days before the disease develops so as to reach 
a crisis.” 

It was still early in the forenoon, and being assured 
that her presence was not essential to Ned’s comfort, 
Maud hurried off to attend to her duties at Profes- 
sor Colville’s Institute. 

She now saw that more than ever she must work, 
for her wages as a teacher was all that stood between 
her loved ones and actual poverty. 

Winter was upon them, and she had planned to 
get herself and her mother stout shoes and Avarmer 
dresses, but in the face of greater wants these neces- 
saries took on the appearance of luxuries that must 
be dispensed with. 

All day she worked with her pupils like one in a 
dream. Every unusual sound struck her ears like 
Ned’s voice summoning her to his side. 

The minutes seemed hours, so great was her anx- 
iety to go to him, and yet in thinking of Ned she 
saw Chiswick’s black eyes and luminous olive face 
rising up between her and the gentle-hearted man, 
the woof of whose life was so strongly inwoven 
with the warp of her own. 

She explained to the kind-hearted professor the 
reason for her nervousness and abstracted manner 
during the day ; and he told her that if her brother 
required her presence, she was at liberty to stay 


maud's temptation. 


153 


away till he got better, without having any abate- 
ment made in her salary. 

On reaching home at four o’clock that afternoon, 
Maud found Ned unconscious. His face was flushed 
and he muttered incoherently, but her name was 
ever on his lips. 

Chiswick was all courtesy and deference ; and his 
professions of devotion to the sick man tended to 
soothe the feelings of mingled dread and fascination 
with which Maud regarded him. 

Mrs. Rand came into the sick room where Maud, 
who had not yet removed her ulster, sat holding 
Ned's hand, and whispered; 

There is a messenger from Mr. Moore’s to see you.” 

Maud went out to the dining-room and found a 
young man with a note addressed to her. 

It read : 

“ Miss Rand will no doubt regret to hear that my son is still 
very low and weak. He speaks of her constantly, and she 
will confer a great favor on him and me by coming here with 
the bearer. Mrs. E. L. Moore.” 

^‘The carriage is ready at the door,” said the mes- 
senger, waving his hand in the direction of the street. 

Maud gave the note to Mrs. Rand, and asked : 

“What shall I do?” 

“ It is your duty to go,” was the reply. Then Mrs. 
Rand added: “May Heaven give strength to the 
mothers who are watching by the sick beds of their 
children this day.” 

Without any change in her dress, or even a glance 


154 


MAUD MORTON. 


into the mirror, without which but few young ladies 
venture to leave the house, Maud told the messen- 
ger she was ready, and followed him down to the 
carriage. 

It was the first time she had ever ridden in such a 
splendid affair, yet she was as wanting in self-con- 
sciousness as if she were riding in a street car. 

She had never met Edgar Moore’s parents, nor 
did she give them a thought till she stood face to 
face with the aristocratic-looking old couple in the 
stately drawing-room. 

“ I thank you for coming,” said Mrs. Moore, as 
she kissed Maud. Our poor boy has wanted you, 
and we are to blame for not having sent for you be- 
fore.” 

I regret your son’s suffering for his sake and 
your own,” said Maud, her beautiful face in harmony 
with her words; yet I fear it is but little that I can 
do to relieve him.” 

“ Let us see about that, my dear child,” said Mrs. 
Moore, who, from Maud’s first entrance, appeared 
to be fascinated by her appearance and manners. 

She was conducted up the broad stairs to Edgar’s 
room. What a contrast it was to the little chamber 
in which Ned lay, and what a contrast Edgar’s Avorn 
face and hollow eyes to Ned’s so flushed and wild! 

“ Oh, Maud, thank God you are here at last 1 I — 
I cannot raise my arms,” cried Edgar, looking down 
at his wasted, paralyzed hands. 

“ Then I shall raise them for you.” As Maud spoke 


maud’s temptation. 155 

she took the cold hands in hers, and stooping, she 
kissed the pale forehead. 

After placing a chair near the head of the bed. 
Mrs. Moore stole softly out of the room, closing the 
door behind her. 

Edgar was so full of his subject that he did not 
even inquire for Ned or Mrs. Rand. It may be that 
he thought no illness could come to them. 

He told Maud that he feared he could not live, 
or that, if he lived, he would be a cripple all his life. 

I would rather die than be a care to others,’' he 
said. But I wanted to tell you that I have won 
my parents to my side, and when they know’ you 
they wall love you. You are poor, but as their 
daughter you will be rich. It is no selfish whim that 
moves me now, my darling. I am thinking only of 
your welfare. Should I die, as I fear I must, I want 
to hold your hand, the hand of my wife, before I go 
down into the valley of the shadow.” 

Maud’s nature was far too frank and open for her 
to pretend that she did not understand Edgar Moore. 

After a pause, during which his sad, eager eyes were 
fastened on hers, long-lashed and drooping, she said : 

In times of trial, a wife’s place is by her hus- 
band’s side.” 

Surely it is,” he replied. 

And she should give to him no divided duty.” 

I do not fear your doing so, Maud, but as to your 
loving and caring for Ned and your mother, no at- 
tention that you can give them will make me jealous.” 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘^Then you have not heard from Ned?’' 

Only that he moved. And when I get a little 
stronger, I shall try to remedy the unconscious in- 
jury I have done him. Will you please to tell him 
so?” 

‘Of I Avere to tell him now,” she answered, in a 
voice tremulous with emotion, “ he would not under- 
stand me.” 

“ Not understand you, Maud ? ” 

“No*;” with a sad shake of the head. 

“ But why not ? ” 

“You have cares enough of your own without 
being annoyed by ours,” she said. 

“ But something has happened to your brother ?” 

“Yes; his physical and mental sufferings have 
brought on a brain fever, and now, unconscious of 
his surroundings, he lies near the door of death.” 

“ You startle me ! ” 

Edgar’s expression showed that he did not exag- 
gerate. 

He tried to raise his hands to his white face, and 
realizing his inability, he uttered a groan that seemed 
to come from his heart. 

“ I could die,” he said, huskily, “if, in dying, I 
could bring happiness to you and yours, Maud ; but 
to think that I am, indirectly, the cause of Ned’s 
sufferings, pains me more than the injury that has 
made me, oh, so weak and helpless.” 

“ Still, still,” she cried, again taking his hands, 
“ you are not to blame.” 


IN SORE STRAITS. 


157 


CHAPTER XIX. 

IN SORE STRAITS. 

When Maud left Mr. Moore’s house that evening, 
she had to promise that she would come back the 
next forenoon and see Edgar. 

‘‘For,” said the distracted mother, “your coming 
has done my boy much good ; and there is nothing 
that gives him happiness that can be denied.” 

Poor girl ! she was now in sore straits herself, and 
much in need of a helping hand. 

Under other circumstances she would have gone 
at once to Ned or his mother, certain that either or 
both would give her the love and sympathy and good 
counsel of which she stood so sorely in need. 

But Ned — brave, generous Ned — was himself 
worse than helpless, for his reason had drifted away 
from its strong moorings, his body was fevered, and 
his soul tempest-tossed. 

As for Mrs. Rand, Maud reasoned that she had 
already more anxiety than she could well bear, for 
her heart was wrapped up in her noble boy ; and so 
she decided not to tell her about Edgar Moore’s 
offer — at least for the present. 

It was now clear to her that she could not attend 
to her duties as drawing teacher and at the same 


MAUD MORTON. 


158 

time visit Edgar Moore and assist Mrs. Rand in 
nursing Ned and caring for the little home. 

will try it for one week,” reasoned Maud, ‘‘and 
if by the end of that time I cannot return to Pro- 
fessor Colville’s, 1 shall resign, so that he can get 
some one else to fill my place.” 

Great as were the trials the brave girl had now to 
encounter, she felt that she could combat or endure 
them with a greater fortitude if she were only freed 
from the overpowering presence of Homer Chiswick. 

Go where she would, she heard his low, bell-like 
voice ringing in her ears, and the wonderful black 
eyes and the olive face, with its swarthy, phosphor- 
escent glow, were ever before her. 

Waking or sleeping, it was always the same. 

When away from him she wanted to fly, so that 
she might never see him again ; but each time she 
saw him and heard him she felt that her power to 
resist the mesmeric spell he had thrown about her 
grew weaker and weaker. 

The feeling to which she was yielding no more re- 
sembled love than ligTitning resembles the steady 
glow of spring sunshine, or the child’s obedience to 
the gentle wish of the mother resembles the galley 
slave’s compliance with the command of the official 
who guards him and bars his liberty. 

Chiswick, by neither word, act nor expression, gave 
the slightest indication of the influence he had over 
Maud, and of which he must have been aware from 
the first. 


IN SORE STRAITS. 159 

He became more reserved, more absorbed in the 
business of caring for the sick man. 

Yet nothing escaped him. His abstraction was 
either assumed or it came to him when he was map- 
ping out and perfecting the intricate and unscrupu- 
lous plans that were to lead to the overthrow of 
Donald Morton and his own elevation, as the hus- 
band of the beautiful Maud. 

He worked from the strong vantage ground of 
knowing more about her than she knew about herself. 

He hailed Ned’s sickness as the best possible thing 
that could have happened for himself. 

And when in his ravings — ravings which Maud 
was not permitted to hear — Ned told of his love for 
the girl to whom he had devoted all that was best 
in his own noble life, Chiswick began to feel that it 
would be still better for his own plans if the fever 
were permitted to burn the cords that held the pa- 
tient to earth. 

It has been shown already that Chiswick had no 
conception of what the world calls conscience.” 

Of right and wrong his training had given him a 
good knowledge, but the doing of either had equal 
merit in his eyes, and he was quite ready to do either 
if it would forward his own ends without danger to 
his life or his liberty. 

He was a wonderful exemplification of a brilliant 
intellect in a beautiful form, but with the soul absent. 

At heart he was a coward, and he had an animal’s 
instinctive dread of pain and death; and yet the 


l6o MAUD MORTON. 

animal in his composition was wholly subordinated 
to his phenomenal mental qualities and his complete 
mastery of his emotions. It may be that the soulless 
are incapable of emotion. 

Two beings more completely opposite than this 
man and Maud Rand it would be impossible to con- 
ceive. 

Her fair face, madonna-like, with its aureole of gold- 
en hair, and the soulful eyes^ in which the gray twi- 
light and noon-deep blue were blended, was no more 
distinct from his Satanic beauty than was the pro- 
found humanity of her heart and mind from the 
somber unearthliness of his. 

But whether beside the bed of suffering Edgar 
Moore, or listening to, without daring to look at, 
Homer Chiswick, the object of all Maud’s acts, the 
central thought, about which every other thought 
revolved as the planets revolve about the sun, was 
the recovery of her adopted brother. 

Every day for a week she went to Mr. Moore’s, 
spending as many or more hours there than she 
would have done at school, and then going home to 
help her mother. 

Seeing that another week of the same painful 
routine opened up before her, she went to the Insti- 
tute and insisted on resigning a place the duties of 
which it was impossible to fill. 

Professor Colville urged her to take her wages for 
the past week, but, much as she wanted the money, 
she refused, saying: 


IN SORE STRAITS. l6l 

‘‘If I could continue the work next week I would 
accept wages for the last, but under the circuru' 
stances I do not feel it would be right/' 

And so she left without the money, the professor 
telling her that her place would be held for her till she 
could come back. 

By this time her funds had become very low ; 
and Maud, anxious to save her mother, took her 
guitar and some articles of jewelry, that Ned had 
given her, to the nearest pawn shop ; and on these 
things she raised a few dollars. 

The pawnbroker’s eyes caught the gleam of gold 
at her throat, and when she objected to the small 
amount he gave her, he asked : 

“ What is that about your neck ? ” 

On the impulse she took off the chain, with the 
locket, shaped like a heart of gold. 

“ I will let you have fifteen dollars for that,” said 
the man, examining the links of the curious chain, 
and opening the lids of the locket. . 

“I want more money,” she said, as she refastened 
the chain about her neck, “and it may be that I must 
have it to save his life, but till then I shall keep what 
has never been off my neck for an hour since my 
earliest recollection.” 

“ Father sick ? ” asked the man. 

“No, sir,” 

“Husband?” 

“ No — my brother.” 

“Ah, that’s bad,” said the pawnbroker, as Maud 


i 62 


MAUD MORTON. 


turned to leave ; but if you want fifteen for that 
chain at any time, come round and Fll try and 
raise it for you.*’ 

On her Avayhome she met Polly Wogley and Push, 
the latter wearing his habitual scowl, though it seem- 
ed to lighten in Maud’s presence. 

I heard of your brother’s sickness,” Polly began, 
^‘and though neither him nor no one else knows how 
I feel an’ have long felt to him, I couldn’t rest till I 
saw him.” 

''Have you been to the house ? ” asked Maud. 

"Yes; just come from there; an’ Pm now out 
huntin’ you. You see I couldn’t talk to your brother, 
coz his mind is off; nor to your mother, for that yel- 
low devil, Chiswick, was around ; but here’s the 
business. A long time ago, when mother was sick 
and we was hard up, I asked your brother to help 
us, an’ he gave me fifty dollars. I guess he forgot 
all about it, but I haven’t. Now, there’s nothin’ so 
handy in. times of sickness as a little ready money; 
so, as I had the cash on hand, I thought Pd come 
down an’ fork it over. There it is — fifty without in- 
terest. Don’t count it on the street ; an’ if me or 
Push can help, let us know. Pll be down again in a 
day or two. Keep your upper lip starched.” 

As Polly said this she kissed Maud’s hand, and 
turning, hurried away with her brother. 

Maud believed the girl; the act of helping those 
in distress and then saying nothing to a soul about 
it was so like brave Ned. 


IN SORE STRAITS. 


163 


The money was a godsend. But it is just to the 
record to state right here that Ned, though he cer- 
tainly would have helped Polly had she asked it? 
never loaned her a cent in his life, for the Neptune 
House and the boats brought in more money than 
the owners needed for their simple wants. 

Polly knew that Ned had lost the cottage for the 
want of money, and she reasoned that in his sickness 
his mother would be hard pressed. The fifty dol- 
lars was the half of a sum she had saved from her 
own earnings, and she invented the fiction of a loan 
from Ned, so that Maud could have no hesitation in 
taking it. 

Maud grasped the money with the clutch of a 
miser. 

To her it seemed as Heaven-sent, as surely it was. 

She felt that Ned had cast this morsel of bread on 
the waters of Benevolence, and that Gratitude had 
brought it back after many days. 

Before this she had been somewhat indifferent to 
the power of money ; it had been simply a means to 
an end — a medium between labor and its necessities. 
But now she felt, for the moment, that it had some 
intrinsic merit — some magic power to help Ned and 
to lighten the burden of care that pressed so heavily 
on her dear mother’s heart. 

She could not stop on the way to purchase, as had 
been her habit, the articles necessary for their little 
household, so eager was she to tell Mrs. Rand of 
their good fortune. 


164 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘^Ned was always doing good,” said Mrs. Rand, 
when Maud had counted the money into her palm ; 
‘‘but his left hand never knew what his right hand 
did in that way. But the curious part about this is 
that when one does a favor to the needy, they forget 
it when the need is over, or else they become the 
enemies of those who helped them. Polly Wogley 
is an exception to the rule. She has an honest heart, 
and may Heaven guard her ever from want.” 

And we echo the good woman’s prayer, for Pol- 
ly’s act had the double merit of a lofty motive and a 
delicate method. 

A noble act must be done in a noble way. 


DONALD MORTON AND PETER CURLY. 


i6s 


CHAPTER XX. 

DONALD MORTON AND PETER CURLY. 

It is an awful thing to take the life of another, 
even in self-defense; still, the very best people be- 
lieved, and so expressed themselves, that Donald 
Morton had done the law-abiding world a good ser- 
vice in ridding it of the wretched Coots. 

The coroner's jury had declared him guiltless; 
and so long as the law upheld him, Donald Morton 
was comfortable, if not actually happy in his se- 
curity. 

As counsel ip the management of his vast and 
complicated business, Morton retained some of the 
foremost lawyers in New York; but these learned 
men were powerless to help him in the vast and com- 
plicated villainies whereby he had come into posses- 
sion and still retained the greater part of his wealth. 

He never had been able to work without tools; 
and now, when a long immunity from danger had 
weakened his confidence in himself, tools became 
more necessary than ever. 

Peter Guriy proved every day that he was the 
very man of whom Morton stood so much in need. 

He was quiet, sly and low-voiced ; and to Morton 
a crime seemed always less criminal when it was 


i66 


MAUD MORTON. 


discussed in a whisper in a dimly-lit room, such as 
Guriy preferred. 

The library had been Morton’s favorite apartment, 
but he went there no more. Even in broad daylight 
he passed the place in a hurry without daring to 
look in. 

He ordered Mrs. Belton to keep the library doors 
and windows open by day, and all the gas jets in the 
room lit at night, as if light and air in that place could 
have any effect in driving the shadows from his own 
black heart, or expelling from his brain the haunting 
memory of a cowardly murder. 

Morton was forced, by the very necessities of the 
case, to take Peter Guriy into his confidence. It was 
easier to discuss crime with the thieves’ lawyer than 
with any other man in the world. 

Peter Guriy looked at crime from a professional 
standpoint. 

It was the source of his income, and so he could 
not be expected to think it so bad a thing as did the 
men who legislated against it. 

He understood the needs of Donald Morton’s case 
from first to last, and, as it promised a greater re- 
ward than anything he had yet undertaken, he pru- 
dently gave it his best thought, and did not permit 
it to suffer for the want of time. 

‘^The fates favor us,” said Peter Guriy, as he and 
Morton sat one night in the reception room with the 
light burning low. 

How is that ? ” asked Morton. 


iDONALD MORTON AND PETER GURLY. l6j 

I saw Dr. Ken worthy this evening, and he says 
he does not think j^oung Rand can live.’' 

The worse for him and the better for us,” said 
Morton. 

But,” continued Guriy, there’s Chiswick install- 
ed at the flat as a nurse. It’s the most extraordinary 
thing how that came about. If we had enemies 
deliberately working to thwart us, they couldn’t have 
hit on a better move than that. Ah, Chiswick is a 
keen fellow, if ever there was one. By the bye, Mr. 
Morton, what do you know about his antecedents ? ” 
‘^Chiswick’s?” 

“Yes.” 

“Nothing.” 

“ Don’t know where he hails from ? ” 

“No.” 

“ How did you come to employ him ? ” 

“Through Dr. Kenworthy.” 

“How did Kenworthy come to know him?” 
“Knew his mother, I believe,” grunted Morton. 

“ Where is his mother ? ” 

“ Don’t know.” 

“Ever see her, Mr. Morton ? ” 

“Never. Why do you ask ? ” 

“ Only that I m.ay learn enough about Chiswick to 
be able to handle him. If you think it would be 
prudent, I can have it fixed so as to send him to the 
penitentiary for years ; and if we do that, I can se- 
cure any papers he may have, for he will be sure 
either to employ me or some of the legal friends who 


i68 


MAUD MORTON. 


are in with me. Oh, 1 can have him sent up for ten 
or fifteen years whenever you say the word.'’ 

Peter Guriy spoke like a man discussing a business 
scheme of the most reputable character. 

‘‘ How could you do that? ” asked Morton. 

I’ll show you.” 

Peter Guriy drew nearer, and with the gracious 
manner which he always assumed when questioning 
a witness to whom he was well disposed, he contin- 
ued : 

Homer Chiswick was, for a time, your secretary, 
I believe.” 

‘‘He was.” 

“ You trusted him ? ” 

“I did.” 

“ With money and papers ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ He could open your safe ? ” 

“Yes.’' 

“ Is he. now in your employ ? ” 

“ No.” 

“Why did he leave?” 

Peter Guriy bent forward, and as Morton showed 
no disposition to answer, he repeated : 

“Why did he leave? ” 

“Oh, because we couldn’t agree.” 

“No, Mr. Morton ; there you are wrong,” said 
Guriy, with the gentle manner of a teacher prompt- 
ing a very apt scholar. “You discharged Chiswick 
because he had become the associate of Coots and 


DONALD MORTON AND PETER GURLY. 169 

other disreputable characters ; and because you sus- 
pected him of being one of the men who tried to rob 
your house. Your own detective saw him with 
• Coots near this place, not twenty minutes before you 
discovered the two men trying to break into your 
safe. Well, since getting rid of this young man be- 
cause of his bad associations, you have discovered 
that a lot of valuable papers, family jewelry, and so 
' forth and so forth, are missing from your safe. You 
suspect Chiswick ; you consult me as a lawyer who 
knows the way of such people. I have Chiswick ar- 
rested ; and a search warrant discovers the missing 
articles in his trunk. Do you understand? ” 

I understand ; but can that be done replied 
Morton, his admiration for the other’s tactical ability 
rising every moment. 

*Wou let me have the things you want to have 
stolen,” said Guriy, '‘and I’ll see that they are found 
in the proper place. Why, jobs like that are set up 
every day. But why should I try to explain to you, 
when your success proves that you have a genius 
for such work.” 

Morton bit his lip, for though he was eaten up 
with vanity, like all selfish natures, yet this was a 
kind of compliment in which he could find no delight. 

Without attempting to exonerate himself from the 
infamous charge made so lightly by the lawyer, 
Morton coughed and said : 

" I shall leave the whole matter in your hands. I 
am ready to do whatever you say ; provided, always, 


MAUD MORTON. 


1 70 

that I can remain in a position that does not endan- 
ger my good name and business standing.” 

''Ah, just so,” said Guriy, smacking his thin lips 
as if he had been given a bit of something sweet and 
rich to taste. 

"And now let us suppose Rand dead and Chiswick 
disposed of, there will still remain the girl — ” 

"That need not trouble you,” said Guriy. He 
was about to add, " In order to have her out of the 
way. I’ll marry her myself,” but he thought better 
of it. 

"The girl is a fraud. She has no claim on me ; is 
no relation of mine, yet she is amiable, weak, and 
pliable ; and being very pretty, she is all the more 
dangerous,” said Morton. 

" If it can be shown that she is the companion of 
the vile, it will naturally be inferred that she is 
vicious. But as she has given no sign that she knows 
anything of the claims Coots set up for her, let us do 
nothing for the present, except to be prepared to 
prove to the world that she is a disreputable person, 
who, failing to induce you to marry her, has attempt- 
ed blackmail out of revenge. Leave it all to me, and 
I will report from day to day. Have no fear as to 
the result,” said Guriy, as he rose and shook hands 
with his employer. 

Within a few minutes after Guriy’s departure 
Morton put on his overcoat, and telling Mrs. Belton 
that he was going to his club and might not be back 
till late, he left the house. 


DONALD MORTON AND PETER GURLY. 171 

He had gone but a few yards when a woman, who 
had been standing under a lamp-post, stepped out 
and stood facing him, so that he had to come to a 
stop. 

She was of medium height, veiled, and dressed in 
black. 

Seeing that he could not pass the woman, Donald 
Morton swallowed a lump that threatened to choke 
him, and then asked, hoarsely ; 

Woman, why do you stop me 

The woman flung back her black vail, revealing a 
thin face that must have been very beautiful at one 
time, and the pallor of which was made more corpse- 
like in contrast with the large, burning black eyes. 

''Do you not know me, Donald Morton?” she 
asked, coming nearer and raising her face so that the 
light from the neighboring lamp shone full upon it 
as she brought it closer to his. 

‘'I — I never saw you before ! ” he gasped. 

"It would be well for me if you never had,” she 
said, in thrilling tones. " But I am free again. Do 
you hear me, Donald Morton ? I am free ! ” 

"Free from what? ” he asked, his courage return- 
ing. 

" Free from the asylum in which you kept me for 
years. It has been decided that I was not insane, 
never was insane — ” 

"Then the decision was wrong, for you are insane 
now.” 

" That I am not insane,” she said, dashing aside the 


172 


MAUD MORTON. 


veil which had again fallen over her face, that I am 
not in my grave, is not your fault.” 

Woman, who are you?” he asked, his voice 
showing both anger and fear. 

He made as if he would go on, but again she con- 
fronted him resolutely, and a tigerish gleam came 
into her eyes, and her lips were compressed into a 
dark line. 

Look at me well, Donald Morton ! ” she exclaim- 
ed. Look at me well, and say if you have forgot- 
ten the wife whom you so cruelly wronged and de- 
ceived — the woman whose life you have blasted and 
whose child you stole! ” 

I have no wife — never had a wife,” stammered 
Morton. 

“ I have not sought you out to press my rights as 
a wife at this time,” she said, with forced calmness. 

‘‘That is very considerate of you,” he sneered. 

“ No. I can wait for that. But you know why I 
am here.” 

“ I certainly do not, and I wish you would permit 
me to pass.” 

As if she had not heard him, she continued : 

“ I come, as a mother, to ask what you have done 
with our son.” 

“Your son ! What do I know your son? ” 

“ Our son, Donald Morton ! Tell me at once where 
I can find him, or I shall follow you night and day 
till I know the truth.” 

Again she let her veil fall, and stepped to his 


DONALD MORTON AND PETER CURLY. 


173 


side to show she was prepared to carry out her 
threat. 

Donald Morton stroked his chin nervously, and 
looked up and down the wind-swept street in which 
the lamps were wavering and flickering like the light 
in his own eyes. 

Seeing no one in sight, he said, soothingly : 

My dear madam, you mistake me for some other 
man.’' 

Once I mistook you for another man,” she said, 
with biting bitterness. Once I believed you pure, 
and good, and noble ; but I found you out, Donald 
Morton, I found you out, though it was not till you 
had blasted the life which you swore before Heaven 
to protect.” 

I should be glad to hear your story, and to help 
you, if in my power, but this is neither the time nor 
place. Now, let me go my way.” 

And again he took a forward step, and again she 
confronted him. 

I must speak with you, and now,” she said, reso- 
lutely. 

'‘Well,” he said, doggedly, "go on.” 

" Where is my son ? ” she demanded. 

" How should I know ? ” 

" Does he live ? ” 

" I do not know.” 

"I say you do.” 

"And I repeat that I don’t.” 

"Donald Morton, you lie ! ” she hissed. " Wicked 


174 


MAUD MORTON. 


beyond expression though you are, you could not 
castoff your own son as you cast off his mother — 
your wife. Tell me where I can find him, for my 
heart is dying to have him near it. Tell me this, 
and I will promise never to come nigh you again.” 

She raised her arms appealingly, and her voice, at 
the close, was pathetic and tear-laden. 

See here ; can’t you call to see me at my house?” 
asked Morton, with another furtive glance about 
him. 

I can. Where do you live ? ” 

He handed her his card, with the remark: 

‘Wou must know where I live, or you could not 
manage to meet me here.” 

I shall see you at your house, and at your bank, 
and at your club. I shall cling to you like your 
shadow till you have told me where I can find my 
boy.” 

With this, she stepped to one side, and Donald 
Morton laughed and hurried on. 

He went to his club to hear the flattery of those 
who admired him for his wealth, and to be envied by 
the younger bachelors, who whispered one to the 
other: 

^Hf I were as rich as Morton, I’d have a wife.” 


WAS SHE TO BLAME? 


^15 


CHAPTER XXL 

WAS SHE TO BLAME. 

Ned Rand became so weak and his state so criti- 
cal as to require constant attendance. 

Chiswick could only stay to nurse him during the 
daytime, for at night he was otherwise engaged, but 
he would have employed a man to take his place had 
Mrs. Rand permitted it. 

'' I want to be near my boy as much as possible,’' 
said the anxious mother, when Chiswick made this 
proposition. ‘'You are giving us great help during 
the day, and we are very thankful for it. At night 
Maud and I would prefer to have him all to our- 
selves.” 

With the courtesy of manner distinguishing him, 
Chiswick agreed to this arrangement, though at heart 
he wanted one of his own creatures to take his place. 

He had a strong reason for this. 

He saw that day by day Maud was coming under 
the magnetic influence and surrendering her will to 
his. He also saw that the existence of Ned Rand 
was all that prevented his getting supreme control 
over her. 

If Ned Rand were dead, Maud would be guided 
wholly by himself ; so Chiswick reasoned. 


176 MAUD MORTON. 

To him a human life was no obstacle. 

So far as such a nature could admire nobility of 
character, Chiswick admired Ned Rand; he might 
have even preferred to do him a service, if such an 
act did not affect his own purpose ; certain it is, he 
would not hesitate to do him a harm to gain his own 
ends. 

He wanted Ned Rand out of the way, and his 
knowledge of drugs gave him the opportunity he 
desired. 

Unknown to the doctor, who was an old and a 
worthy gentleman, Hom.er Chiswick was murdering 
the man he was pretending to nurse. 

With a patience and self-abnegation that those who 
knew her might have expected, and a devotion to 
Ned that would have eased his pain if he could have 
known it, Maud did her daily duties and bore her 
daily trials without a murmur. 

The fifty dollars she got from Polly Wogley soon 
went, and to satisfy in part the want that again stared 
them in the face, Maud thought she would go to the 
pawnbroker, who had offered her fifteen dollars for 
the chain and its heart of gold, and leave it with him 
in pledge. 

She unclasped the chain as she had often done be- 
fore, and again looked at the pictures of her father 
and mother. Of the former she had no recollection, 
but the parting from her dead mother, that night 
when Heaven and earth seemed to have forsaken 
them — that night when Ned gave her his coat and 


WAS SHE TO BLAME? 


177 


took her to his heart, which she was never to leave 
again — seemed as distinct as the events of yesterday. 

Ever since the hour when she found a home with 
Ned and his mother, Maud had worn the chain and 
treasured the heart of gold as a precious talisman 
that, in some way, would protect her from all 
harm. 

By every association this sole remnant and re- 
minder of the parents of whom she remembered so 
little was exceedingly precious to her, yet, as she 
stood ready to give her life, if need be, to save Ned, 
why should she hesitate to part wdth this bauble, 
whose chief value lay only in its association ? 

She left the house, fully determined to pledge the 
chain and locket, and walked to the pawnshop. 

She stood hesitating before the door, which she 
was about to enter, when a carriage stopped near 
by, and she heard her name called. 

Maud turned and saw Mrs. Moore leaning out of 
the carriage door and motioning to her. 

My dear child,” said the courtly old lady, I was 
on the way to your rooms. I am most fortunate to 
have found you. Come, get in. Edgar wants to 
see you, and I must have a long talk with you.” 

Glad of an excuse to keep her precious memento 
a little longer, Maud entered the carriage, and was 
driven to Mrs. Moore’s house. 

She still held the locket and chain in her hand, 
when Mrs. Moore led her to her own room, saying: 

Before you see Edgar, I must have a long talk 


178 


MAUD MORTON. 


with you, and I am sure you will be very frank with 
me/' 

have nothing to conceal," said Maud, as she 
slipped the chain and the heart of gold into her 
pocket, fearful that Mrs. Moore might see it and 
guess at the reason for her carrying it in that 
way. 

But Mrs. Moore had caught the glitter of the gold- 
en heart, and guessed at the truth, though, as her 
conversation showed, it did not need this to con- 
vince her of Mrs. Rand’s poverty. 

Mrs. Moore took Maud’s hand to assure her that 
her feelings were in full accord with what she was 
going to say, and began : 

Edgar has explained to his father and myself 
about the serious business reverses of your brother, 
and he claims that he is indirectly to blame for the 
loss of your cottage. We further know, my dear, 
that your brother, instead of being a provider, as he 
would be if in health, must be a serious expense, 
particularly as you have to employ a nurse." 

That is all true," said Maud, blushing at the 
thought of being so helpless, rather than from any 
shame she had of their poverty, “but we have many 
things which we do not actually need and which we 
can sell — " 

“ My child," interrupted Mrs. Moore, “you must 
give us the right to help you." 

“ I am sure you have been very kind." 

“No, Maud; we have not been kind. I am very 


WAS SHE TO BLAME ? 


179 


sure we have been unjust. Ah ! if instead of oppos- 
ing our dear boy when he told us of his love for you 
and begged us to know you, we had been content 
with his choice — as we surely should have been had 
we met — he might not be where he is to-day.” And, 
overcome by the thought, Mrs. Moore bowed her 
head and covered her face with her hands. 

I am sure you did what you thought best. Your 
son was rich and well connected. Why should you 
seem willing to have him marry the adopted daugh- 
ter of a poor woman — the adopted sister of a me- 
chanic — a girl who knew of not one person in the 
world with kindred blood in his veins?” 

Maud’s voice showed feeling, and her words were 
such as might have been expected from one of her 
good sense. 

You must give us the right to help you and the 
mother and brother who are so dear to you,” said 
Mrs. Moore, coming back again to the subject up- 
permost in her mind. ''We stand ready to aid you 
by the right and duty we all have to do good. Still, 
for the sake of my poor boy, whoso loves you, whose 
pain only your presence can lighten, you must give 
us this right.” 

"This right?” repeated Maud. 

And her questioning eyes told that she did not 
understand Mrs. Moore. 

"Yes; Edgar will explain it to you. Go to him, 
and bear in mind that his father and I unite in urging 
you to comply with his request. If his mind were 


l8o MAUD MORTON. 

at rest on this point, the doctors think he would im- 
prove.'’ 

Maud did not question Mrs. Moore further. In- 
stinctively she guessed at what was meant by the 
word ''right,” but her heart rose to her mouth and 
prevented her saying more. 

Mrs. Moore led her to the room where Edgar, pale 
and worn, sat propped up with pillows. 

Flis fine eyes brightened at sight of Maud, and he 
looked down at his paralyzed hands as if he expect- 
ed them to be lifted up with their old-time strength 
and reached out to embrace her. 

Mrs. Moore kissed her son and then kissed Maud. 

‘'Tell me, when I see you again,” she whispered, 
as she turned to leave the room, " that you will be 
one of us.” 

" When you are not with me,” said Edgar, as Maud 
sat down beside the bed and laid her hand on his, 
"my heart hungers; when you are by me, it is full. 
You make me very happy, Maud. God knows how 
happy I would make you.” 

" I know — I feel all that,” she said. 

"You must not think me selfish,” he went on. 
"The doctors say — and I am sure they are right — 
that if I live I shall be bodily helpless all my days; 
but I have no desire for such a life, even with 
your love to bless it. Maud, look at me, my dar- 
ling, and tell me if you think me truthful and un- 
selfish ? ” 

For reply she rose and kissed him, as a loving sis- 


WAS SHE TO BLAME ? 


i8i 


ter might have done, and, unable to control her feel- 
ings, she sobbed : 

“ In my heart of heart I believe you/’ 

. '' If you were my wife,” continued Edgar, his deep, 
dark eyes fixed in worship on her face, my father 
and mother would feel free to help those you so love ; 
and — and, Maud, they would not be left childless in 
their old age, when — when I am no more.” 

Do not speak so ! You shall live ! ” cried Maud. 

Then she laid her head against his hand, and 
moaned: 

^‘Why do those so dear to me have to suffer? 
Does loving me bring the penalty of sickness and 
pain ? ” 

''No, no, Maud, my love, my life; loving you is 
the one thing that brightens all the past, and makes 
the present endurable. Come nearer and whisper, 
so that only myself and Heaven can hear it, the one 
word that will give my parents a daughter.” 

Ned, her mother, the impoverished home, flashed 
through Maud’s mind, and were gone. No selfish 
impulse could find rest in her heart. 

She bent over, kissed him, and said: 

" Yes.” 


Io2 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

A CHANGE. 

To a nature so guileless as Maud’s, deceit, sus- 
picion, and cunning were simply impossible. 

She never had a secret relating to herself ; certainly 
not from Mrs. Rand or Ned. 

To the latter she would have gone at once on her 
return from Mrs. Moore’s, after the visit recorded in 
the last chapter, and told him all, had he been able 
to understand her story. 

As it was, she drew Mrs. Rand out of Chiswick’s 
hearing, and told her what had occurred. 

The good woman kissed Maud, and whispered: 

‘‘My pet, you have ever acted for the best; you 
could not do otherwise now. But if it should be 
God’s will that Ned should recover and come back 
to his mind, don’t tell him — leastwise not until he 
gets to be strong. There, do not ask me to say more 
at this time,” and Mrs. Rand kissed her again and 
turned away. 

As Maud had never attempted to analyze her love 
for Ned, it could not be expected that she should 
weigh and examine his affection for her. 

In her esteem her brother stood above all others. 
To her he was at once the handsomest, bravest and 


A CHANGE. 


183 

noblest of men. There was something like idolatry 
in her devotion to him. He was so wrapped up and 
interwoven with all her thoughts and feelings, with 
all her life, indeed, that to think of herself was to 
suggest him. 

Until she had whispered that ‘^Yes’' to Edgar 
Moore, Maud had never even given a thought to 
Ned’s marrying, or loving any other woman than his 
mother and sister. 

But in thinking of her own situation, she had to 
think of him as similarly placed. 

She was startled, shocked, when she asked herself: 

How should I feel if Ned told me he was going to 
be married ? ” 

But even now she could not account for the swell- 
ing in her throat and the violent beating of her 
heart. She only felt that if Ned were to marry, it 
would kill her. She did not ask herself what effect 
her marriage to Edgar Moore might have on him. 

The state of her mind and affections must not be 
attributed to weakness in either, but rather to her 
inability — an inability that had its origin in the 
purity and simplicity of her nature — to distinguish 
between a profound, deeply-rooted love and the 
strong natural affection existing between a noble 
brother and a devoted sister. 

Chiswick constituted another disturbing element 
in Maud’s troubled life. 

While in the house, she was drawn to him as steel 
is drawn to the magnet. 


184 


MAUD MORTON. 


She struggled to resist his ever-increasing influ- 
ence, but her efforts to be free from his mysterious 
power only weakened her the more. 

It would be wrong to imagine that there was the 
smallest spark of affection in her heart for Chiswick. 

When away from his presence she thought of him 
with horror and loathing; and at such times she was 
seized with the impulse to fly, it mattered not where, 
so that flight removed her from him forever. 

So conscious was she of her own decreasing 
strength that she began several notes to Dr. Ken- 
worthy begging him to take Chiswick away, but 
ashamed of what she thought her own weakness, she 
destroyed them. 

She often felt that if she could summon strength 
to resist him once, when she was under the strange 
influence of his eyes, the spell would be broken and 
she would be able to resist him forever. 

Or if Ned’s reason returned, so that she could feel 
the touch of his hand, and have his deep, strong 
voice bring to her the old-time sense of protection, 
she imagined she would be forever rid of the im- 
pulse to obey Chiswick when near him. 

Bright and early the morning after Maud’s last 
visit to the man to whom she was now betrothed, 
Polly Wogley came to the flat with a basket of deli- 
cacies for the sick man. 

told my mother and Push last night,” began 
Polly, '‘that Mrs. Rand and Miss Maud must be just 
about played out a-nursing Ned; 'so,’ sez I, 'the 


A CHANGE. 


1S5 

Harlem’s friz, an’ there ain’t anythink worth while 
a-doin’ at the Neptune House, so I’ll go down to the 
flat an’ help ’em through.’ My mother sez: ‘Polly, 
you always thought a sight of Ned Rand, which 
shows yer good sense, so go long, an’ if there’s any- 
think in the Neptune House that Mrs. Rand thinks 
would make any of the folks comfortable, tell her to 
shout it out, an’ either Push or me’ll fetch it a-run- 
nin’.’ ” 

Without waiting for Mrs. Rand or Maud to say 
what they really felt, namely, that they were very 
grateful to Polly for her kindness, she took off her 
hat and coat and went into the room, where Chis- 
wick was sitting beside the sick man’s bed. 

Ned was in a drugged sleep, and his parched lips 
were muttering incoherent nothings. 

“ Hello, Chiswick? In the name of all that’s good, 
how did you get in here ? ” was the salutation with 
which Polly greeted the surprised nurse. 

“ Hush ! ” whispered Chiswick; he had never liked 
Polly. “You will wake him up if you make so much 
noise.” 

“I’ve come to wake him,” replied Polly. 

She turned quickly and fixed her big, brave eyes 
on Chiswick’s face till he shrank back, as if from a 
threatened blow ; and the eyes that so overmastered 
Maud fell cowering before this rude, strong woman’s 
defiant gaze. 

“ You are very kind. I’m sure,” sneered Chiswick; 
“ but while you can handle an oar very well, I don’t 


MAUD MORTON. 


1 86 

think you know a great deal about caring for the 
sick. How could you, when you have always been 
so strong and vigorous?” 

^'Accordin’ to that,” retorted Polly, “only the sick 
should nuss the sick, an’ only the blind should lead 
the blind, an’ only sinners should preach. Chiswick, 
if you was to nuss me one day for the earache, it’d 
end in my havin’ brain fever that night. You look 
as if you needed a rest mighty bad, an’ I’m here to 
give it to you. Go put on yer hat an’ take a walk 
by yersel’.” 

“Did Mrs. Rand tell you to come here?” asked 
Chiswick, rising in obedience to Polly’s imperative 
gesture. 

“No. I’ve come on my own hook,” said Polly, 
quickly. “ I’ve come because I dreamt, night before 
last, that you was poisoning Ned Rand. Why do 
you turn yallerer? I won’t say nothink about it if 
you let me have my way. And ” — here she snatched 
a bottle which she had caught a glimpse of in his 
pocket — “I’ll hold on to this for the present. Now, 
let me whisper to you, Chiswick, that I know your 
secret. I overheard you and father. It was you 
helped him to his death, an’ Push will get even with 
you an’ Morton, if he has to swing for it.” 

Polly’s conduct and her words had a stunning 
effect on Chiswick. 

He was as lacking in courage as he was deficient 
in principle, and that is saying a great deal ; but his 
address and cunning made amends for both. 


A CHANGE. 


187 


will leave you here for a while,” he said, ^^if it 
will do you any good. I am sure it will not help 
him. But, Polly, I know your secret, and for your 
own sake, I would not have you listen to Ned Rand 
raving out his love for another woman. Why, he 
wouldn’t marry you if you were worth a million, at 
least while he loves that other girl as he does.” 

Perhaps he loves the girl that you’d like to mar- 
ry. If so, I admire his taste as much as I despise 
your tricks. Oh, Push told me all about upsetting 
the boat and rescuing Miss Maud, just like the play 
of the Colleen Bawn down in the Bowery Theater. 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! Chiswick, play again. I hold nothing 
but trumps, an’ I’ll save the little joker for last.” 

Chiswick left the room, beaten and dazed, and 
wholly unable to reason in the presence of this strong, 
unsusceptible girl. 

He explained to Mrs. Rand that he would be back 
again in an hour or two, but it so happened that he 
never again came back to that house as a nurse. 
Still, it would be a mistake to infer from this that he 
had changed his policy, or that his mysterious influ- 
ence over Maud had ceased. 

Chiswick had been gone but a few minutes, when 
Mr. and Mrs. Moore entered the little sitting-room, 
and were introduced by Maud to Mrs. Rand and 
Polly. 

I see we are here in advance of the doctors,” 
said Mr. Moore. “ My son’s physicians have called 
on Dr. Kenworthy, and they are to come here for 


i88 


MAUD MORTON. 


consultation.” Then taking Mrs. Rand’s hand a 
second time, he continued : I have a favor to ask of 
you, my dear madam, and 1 ask it for your son’s 
sake.” 

‘‘Then, sir,” she replied, “ it is already granted.” 

“ I want you to do as the doctors say. This is no 
time to permit a foolish pride to interfere with the 
duty we owe to those we love. Should it become 
necessary to leave here, you must not question how 
it is to be done.” 

“I shall do as you say, Mr. Moore; and I thank 
you for myself and for my boy,” said Mrs. Rand, 
tears pouring down her care-lined face. 

At this juncture heavy steps were heard on the 
stairs, and immediately after. Dr. Kenworthy, fol- 
lowed by two gray -haired, serious-looking gentle- 
men, entered the room. 

After the customary salutations, they asked how 
the patient was. 

“ About the same,” replied Mrs. Rand. 

The three doctors entered the room, and after a 
brief examination, one of them bent over so as to 
feel the sick man’s breath on his face, and looking up 
in surprise, he said : 

“ That is a morphine sleep ! ” 


STILL PLOTTING. 


189 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

STILL PLOTTING. 

Donald Morton belonged to a number of clubs, 
still it would be an error to infer from this that he 
was a social man. 

He rather disliked companionship, and, as to so- 
ciety, he knew little or nothing about it. 

The clubs, to him, were not places for relaxation 
or pleasure. He went to them very often to talk 
over business with some fellow-member, and when 
this was not the case, he went to see and be seen, 
and to inhale the incense which sycophants are ever 
ready to burn under the noses of rich men. 

He could hardly be called intemperate, though of 
late his admirers at his favorite club noticed that he 
drank a great deal more wine than had been his habit 
heretofore.' 

After his encounter with the woman in black, who 
claimed to be his wife and to be in search of their 
son, Morton went to a palatial club building, lower 
down Fifth Avenue than his own fine mansion. 

His admirers flocked about him, but the dullest 
could see that something had happened either to ruf- 
fle the temper or to impair the digestion of the man 
whom they so envied. 


go 


MAUD MORTON. 


When spoken to, he replied in a mechanical, ab- 
stracted way, like a man whose mind is full of the 
world’s weightier things. 

Not feeling well, Mr. Morton?” asked an admirer. 

‘^Oh, I’m in excellent health,” he replied. 

Thought you didn’t look as hearty as usual,” said 
the admirer. 

‘'Never felt better in my life. But I suppose I’m 
getting old.” 

“Old!” repeated the admirer, with a glance at 
those about him, as if asking them to indorse what 
he was about to say. “ Why, it is only last night that 
a number of us were saying that you are by far the 
youngest-looking man in the club — for your years.” 

A number hastened to indorse this opinion. 

“1 suppose I should feel complimented,” said Mor- 
ton, with a forced smile. “But you know the say- 
ing, ‘A man is as old as he feels, and a woman as old 
as she looks.’ Sometimes, I feel that I am getting to 
be an old man.” 

“ Marry a young wife,” suggested one, “and that 
will bring back your youth, if anything can.” 

This caused a general laugh, and Donald Morton 
pretended to join in it, but there was a pain at his 
heart, a pain intensified by the speaker’s words, that 
was beyond the power of the brightest to conceive. 

After some further desultory talk, Morton lit a 
cigar, and getting an evening paper he went off by 
himself, put on his glasses, and pretended to be en- 
grossed in his reading. 


STILL PLOTTING. 


191 

But he could not distinguish a word ; he did not 
try to. He saw the confused black and white lines, 
nothing more. 

The meeting with that worpan had completely up- 
set him. 

For years he had thought of her, when he thought 
at all, as dead and forever out of his way. 

But she was alive, there could not be the slightest 
doubt of that after his adventure that night; and 
her coming added another complication to the diffi- 
culties of his unenviable position. 

As he sat there, with his back to the drop light 
and the paper trembling in his hand, he glanced over 
his past life. 

Anxious though he was to appear a model of pro- 
priety and good judgment to his admirers, he could 
not hide from himself the errors — if not the crimes — 
of which he had been guilty. 

He could never bring himself to think that any- 
thing he. had ever done or left undone was a crime. 

He excused to himself his treatment of the woman 
he had met, by imagining his marriage a youthful 
folly.” 

He recalled that he first met her when she was 
barely eighteen years of age and he a little over 
twenty-two. 

She was the daughter of an Italian music teacher, 
a man who had been a noble in his own land, but who 
had been expatriated with his friend, the famous 
Garibaldi. 


192 


MAUD MORTON. 


Morton was poor at the time, and as the girl loved 
him fondly and foolishly, she agreed to keep the 
marriage a secret for the present — the most foolish 
thing any woman ever did. 

Just when it seemed that the old Italian must know 
his daughter’s secret, he died, and Morton breathed 
easier. 

After this he began to prosper, but instead of 
keeping his wife and baby boy near him, he sent 
them abroad ; and, for some years, he regularly sup- 
plied them with^money. 

When the money stopped, the poor woman returned 
to America with her son, now a handsome lad of nine. 

She went to see her husband, but did not take the 
boy, for she wished to keep from him all knowledge of 
his father’s perfidy. 

She demanded that Donald Morton should fulfill 
his promise. 

He refused, for he could not confess his marriage 
without showing to the world — to the world that 
believed him so manly — that he was thoroughly in- 
famous. 

Then, as now, he stopped at no obstacle that op- 
posed his success. 

By means well known, and still, alas! frequently 
employed to get rid of an objectionable person, 
Donald Morton succeeded in having his wife sent to 
an insane asylum in another State, and for fifteen 
years he paid her expenses, but gave her no other 
thought. 


STILL PLOTTING. 


193 


He gave an English physician about to return to 
his own country five thousand dollars, on condi- 
tion that he should take the boy to England and 
keep him as his own child. 

From that day to this Donald Morton had not 
heard of or from his son. 

He believed the boy dead ; yet there were times 
when, realizing that he was past the prime of life 
and that old age was coming on apace, Donald Mor- 
ton felt that he would be less lonely if he had his 
son with him. 

As he walked slowly home from the club that 
night, he recalled the fact that this son, if living, 
must be now a young man of five-and-twenty. 

‘‘And if he looks anything like her, he must be 
about as handsome a fellow as can be found.” 

These words passed Morton’s lips as he was in the 
act of ascending his own front door-steps. 

He had the dead-latch-key in his hand, and he was 
about to look for the keyhole, when he was frighten- 
ed cold at seeing a man standing close up against 
the door. 

“Who are you?” he asked, his teeth chattering, 
and his heart thumping from side to side in a way 
to make him reel. 

“Don’t be afraid. I’m your dear friend, Chis- 
wick,” said the owner of that name, with a low, 
mocking laugh. 

“It is midnight. If you want to see me, call to- 
morrow,” said Morton, his courage returning. 


194 


MAUD MORTON. 


^‘Midnight; yes, but I have been here for two 
hours.” 

I did not send for you.” 

‘‘If you had I shouldn’t have come, Mr. Morton. 
You are no longer my master. You are my cashier, 
my uncle, who gives funds without security. Come, 
I am broke.” 

Chiswick reached out his right hand, and worked 
the index finger to indicate his haste. 

Donald Morton bit his lip. He had drank enough 
wine at the club to give him a fictitious courage, but 
all the wine in the world could not change his true 
nature, or give him pluck that was not of the most 
fleeting character. 

“ I have half a notion to call an officer and have 
you arrested,” he said. 

“ Better have me arrested than go to the trouble 
of murdering me,” sneered Chiswick. 

“Chiswick ! ” 

“ I am listening.” 

“ You are the coolest villain I ever met. You will 
be hanged before you are much older. Of that I 
am sure. Yet I must confess I admire your talents,” 
said Morton as he drew out his pocket-book. 

“I will never be hanged o:i your testimony.” 

As Chiswick spoke he snatched the wallet from 
Morton’s hand, quickly rifled it of all its money, then 
flung it on the step and vanished. 

Here was a good chance for Morton to have had 
the young man arrested on what it would be easy to 


STILL PLOTTING. 


I9S 

prove was a case of highway robbery ; but, though 
he thought about it, he had not the nerve to do 
it. 

He picked up the pocket-book, entered the house 
and went to bed. 

He would have slept till late the following morn- 
ing, had not Mrs. Belton, about eight o’clock, rapped 
on his door and called in : 

Mr. Guriy’s here, and he says he’d like to see you 
right away.” 

All right,” said Morton. 

But he evidently thought it all wrong, for he got 
out of bed cursing Guriy and everyone else, himself 
excepted, with the greatest vigor and bitterness. 

Sorry to trouble you,” Guriy began, '‘but as you 
haven’t had your breakfast and I haven’t had mine, 
I’ll take a cup of coffee and a roll with you, and at 
the same time tell you why I have come so early.” 

Morton had to agree to this; and when they were 
seated at the table, and the waiting-maid told that 
she need not return till she was rung for, Guriy went 
on to tell of the wonderful discovery he had made, 
which was the reason for his coming at so unseason- 
able an hour. 

Through his spies he had learned that Maud Rand 
was in the habit of visiting Mrs. Moore’s house every 
day, and that she did not go there in a menial ca- 
pacity was shown by the fact that she came and left 
in the family carriage, and that more than once she 
had been seen out driving with Mrs. Moore. 


196 


MAtri) MORTON. 


‘‘ I see nothing in that to be alarmed at/* said 
Morton. 

'‘No; not in that alone; but the Moores have 
taken a great interest in Ned Rand. They have had 
him moved to elegant apartments in the Waterloo 
Building, and two of the finest physicians in the city 
are waiting on him. Chiswick is no longer there as 
a nurse, Coots’s daughter having taken his place,” 
said Guriy between sips of coffee. 

" Well, Guriy, I pay you to interpret such things 
to me. What do you make out of it? ” 

" It hasn’t progressed far enough for me to say. 
But I don’t like his having rich friends.” 

"Do you think this Polly Wogley might be bribed 
to assist us? ” asked Morton, drawing back from the 
table without having eaten anything. 

"If she’s at all like her father, I should say ‘yes.’ 
But women are always uncertain quantities. And 
talking about women reminds me of another re- 
markable matter,, in which you may be interested.” 

" What is that, Guriy ? ” 

"Why, yesterday,” replied Guriy, "a strange, 
foreign-looking woman, claiming to be your wife, 
came to my office, and asked me to take charge 
of her case. Mighty funny that, wasn’t it, Mr. 
Morton ? ” 


A TERRIBLE BLOW. 


197 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A TERRIBLE BLOW. 

What Guriy told Morton about Ned Rand was 
literally true. 

The doctors brought by Mr. Moore discovered 
two things: first, that the patient was being poison- 
ed for the want of fresh air; and, second, that he 
was being drugged to death with morphine. 

Dr. Kenworthy, who had charge of the case, was 
a reputable physician, so that he was believed when 
he declared that he had never prescribed morphine 
for this patient, and that he had instructed Chiswick, 
who had graduated as a doctor, to try no experi- 
ments. 

But I’m inclined to think he did try experiments,” 
said Polly Wogley, who remained near the doctors 
while they were in consultation. I dreamt that 
Chiswick was poisoning Ned Rand, an’ I felt it was 
my duty to come right down here an’ stop. Here’s 
a bottle I snatched out of Chiswick’s pocket; if it 
ain’t morphine, then I’m a soaring angel.” 

Polly handed out the bottle; and Dr. Kenworthy 
said, after all had examined and exchanged meaning 
glances : 

'H will take charge of this.” 


MAUD MORTON. 


198 

And so it came about that, for Maud’s sake, the 
sick man and his mother were moved to a splendid 
suite of apartments near by, where servants and 
everything else that generosity could suggest or 
wealth supply were provided. 

A trained nurse took Polly Wogley’s place, which 
she yielded gracefully when she learned that it would 
be for Ned’s good. 

Still, every morning she came down from Harlem 
to see how it went with the sick man ; and every 
evening Push, with the same settled, sullen look on 
his face, appeared to make the same inquiry. 

Under these changed conditions Ned rallied, and 
his powerful vitality began to throw off the disease 
and to recover from the effects of the poison admin- 
istered by Chiswick. 

The clouds drifted away from his brain, and the 
sunlight of reason illuminated the mind that had 
been so long befogged and storm-tossed. 

Reason came in the advance of strength. 

Ned had no conception of the length of time he 
had been ill, and when he roused up, like one from a 
heavy sleep, he saw that he was in a strange place, 
but he had not the faintest recollection of his coming. 

His mother and Maud had been told by the nurse 
that a change was coming to the sick man, and so 
they were by his side when the clouds lifted and the 
old expression came back to his worn face, and the 
old light of love and affection beamed in the eyes. 
He turned toward them. 


A TERRIBLE BLOW. 


199 


'^Mother! Maud!” he exclaimed, and he reached 
out his arms to greet them like one who returns 
from a long and stormy voyage, or from a battle- 
field exhausted by a fierce struggle with death. 

They kissed him; and then he looked anxiously at 
their faces, so pale and careworn that it seemed as 
if years must have passed since he saw them before. 

''We have all been very sick,” he said. 

"You have been, my boy ; but, thank Heaven, you 
are over the danger,” said Mrs. Rand, and, unable 
to control her emotion, she dropped on her knees by 
the bed and sobbed upon his breast. 

The entrance of Dr. Kenworthy, who still had 
charge of the case, prevented the excitement which 
must have followed Maud’s explanation of the situa- 
tion. 

Taking the ladies to one side, the doctor said: 

"You must remember our patient is still very 
weak, and what we have to guard against now i^ a 
relapse. It will be better not to talk to him about 
business or anything that may excite him. There 
will be plenty of time to tell him all that has happen- 
ed when his safety is assured.” 

On this excellent advice they decided to act; and 
after that, until Ned’s strength was well restored, 
every effort vras made to direct his mind from those 
subjects in which he had been so deeply interested 
before being taken down. 

The following incident will show how clear Ned’s 
mind was and how keen his powers of observation. 


200 


MAUD MORTON. 


As Maud sat beside the bed stroking his forehead 
with her cool, soft palm, he looked at her with min- 
gled love and curiosity, as one will look who sees a 
change in a familiar face but cannot tell the cause. 

At length he asked, with a gasp : 

'' Maud, where is the chain and the heart of 
gold ?'’ 

Involuntarily she raised her hand to her throat, 
and a deathly pallor overspread her face as she 
answered : 

It is lost.” 

Lost, Maud ? ” 

^'Yes; lost.” 

It will be remembered that Maud went to the 
pawn office to get an advance on the chain and 
locket, but changed her purpose on meeting Mrs. 
Moore. Instead of replacing the locket about her 
neck she put it in her pocket, forgot all about it in 
the excitement of the scene that followed in Edgar 
Moore’s room, and when she came to look for it, on 
retiring that night, it was gone. 

She had spoken to Mrs. Moore and her mother 
about her loss. It was to her like the death of a 
well-beloved and life-long friend. But all search 
failed to reveal the whereabouts of the heart of gold. 

Ned did not question Maud further at this time. 

He guessed that she had sold it or parted with it 
for his sake. 

He saw that she was pained; so he treated the 
loss lightly, saying : 


A TERRIBLE BLOW. 


201 


‘‘Do not fret about it, dear sister. We shall find 
the locket, no doubt. But the true heart of gold 
must remain with you forever.” 

After this Ned began to improve in a way that 
surprised his doctors. 

i Strength came to his limbs and hope to his heart ; 
and he turned his eyes from the contracted limits and 
gloom of the grave, which he had been facing, to 
'see the glorious possibilities of long and happy years 
stretching out before him. 

His mother told him that he owed his restoration 
to health and his improved surroundings to Mr. 
- Moore, who in this way sought to undo a part of the 
injury that had been done to Ned’s affairs by the ac- 
cident that had befallen Edgar. 

At length Ned got so strong that he was able to 
move about again; and just as he was thinking of 
going out to renew his search for work, Mr. Moore 
called to see him, and said : 

‘‘Mr. Rand, as soon as you are able to go to work 
you must let me know, for I have found an opening 
for you which I think will suit.” 

“I think I am ready now, sir,” said Ned. “ I know 
that if I were at work I should feel much more like 
myself.” 

Mr. Moore then explained that, owing to the death 
of one of the firm who had acted as the superintend- 
ent of a large paper factory just outside of the city 
line, another partner, with a small capital, was want- 
ed to fill the vacancy. 


202 


MAUD MORTON. 


I can advance the required capital,” said Mr. 
Moore, ''and arrange it so that you can pay me from 
year to year. You see, it will be purely a business 
matter, and I will be getting a good interest for my 
money.” 

Mr. Moore added the last sentence when he saw 
that Ned was about to protest against this kindness. 

"And,” continued the old gentleman, "in addition 
to your profits from the interest you Avill have in the 
factory, you will get a salary of twenty-five hundred 
dollars a year as superintendent.” 

The surprise and delight of Aladdin when he 
rubbed the magic lamp, and became the master of 
all wealth and power, were not greater than Ned 
Rand’s at the prospect opened up by this noble old 
gentleman. 

We cannot attempt to depict his gratitude. Suf- 
fice it to say he accepted, and within one week he 
was at work. 

First, however, he moved into a house not far from 
his place of business ; and now the only drawback 
to his perfect happiness was that Maud spent so 
much of her time at Mr. Moore’s house. 

Yet Ned was reconciled to this when he learned 
that she was helping to care for poor Edgar, whose 
life lamp flickered so low at times as to fill his watch- 
ers with despair, and again would flash so high and 
steadily as to lead to the belief that his recovery 
must be speedy and perfect. 

Ned gained courage with his changed circum- 


A TERRIBLE BLOW. 


203 


i stances. He began to see now that the secret dream 
ot years might be realized by making Maud his wife. 

I It was so delightful to secretly think of this that 
I he did not even speak to his mother about it, nor did 
she again urge him, as she had often done before, to 
I declare to Maud his love and ask her to be his. 

He imagined that Maud shrank from him, and 
that she seemed less at ease in his presence than 
formerly. 

She kissed him, as had ever been her custom, but 
he could see and feel that the old girlish manner had 
changed. 

One evening when they were alone he took her 
I hand and drew her to his side. Unable longer to con- 
' trol the feeling that had been pent up in his heart 
for years, he told her of his love, and asked her to be 
his wife. 

Oh, Ned, Ned,” she cried, ^'do not speak so. I am 
the wife of another — the wife of Edgar Moore!” 
and she dropped on her knees and clung convulsively 
to his strong hands. 


204 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

ANOTHERCHANGE. 

Ned Rand did not show anger, disappointment or. 
jealousy when, from Maud’s lips, he learned that she^ 
was the wife of another; indeed, he blamed himself 
for ever having imagined that she could be anything 
to him but a sister. 

Quick as the lightning’s flash he took in the situ- 
ation. 

He recalled the pleasant home to which he had 
been removed, and the doctors and nurses, all en- 
gaged by Edgar Moore’s family, who had literally i 
lifted him up in their arms and carried him to the 
highlands of life from the valley of the shadow of 
death. 

He also saw that it was the same influence that 
had taken him from idleness — which he loathed — and 
poverty — which unmanned him — and placed him in 
a position where his abilities could have full play and 
his industry would be rewarded. 

It was through Maud that all this had come about; i 
and, while she was dearer to him than all earth’s ^ 
wealth, yet his noble heart realized that she had . 
made a sacrifice to save him. 

We thought,” sobbed Maud, as she still clung to ^ 


ANOTHER CHANGE. 


205 


I his knees, ‘‘ that it would be better not to tell you this 
* till you were strong. In the past, oh, my brother, I 
I could not read your feelings — could not interpret my 
, own heart. Do not blame me! Do not blame me!” 

‘‘Blame you, my Maud!” he cried, as he stooped 
i and raised her up, and folded her to his breast, as on 
that night of storm in the long ago ; “ why should I 
blame you? You could do nothing that you did not 
think for the best. May God bless you and him ; and 
may he be spared to make your life as happy as I 
would have it. Ther-e! there! do not sob; let us 
wake from the dreams that were so sweet, and make 
: our life duties just as pleasant by doing them well.” 

He kissed her again, and stroked the yellow hair, 
as had been his habit when, as a child, she ran to meet 
him returning from his work at night. 

' Mrs. Rand dreaded to tell Ned what had happened; 

but apart from this fear, she thought it better that 
he should learn the truth from Maud’s lips. 

She met her son immediately after the scene just 
narrated, and she saw that he knew all. 

“I am glad, my boy,” she said, as she kissed him, 
“ that you bear it so well. It was for your sake — for 
all our sakes, but her own.’' 

“ I know it; I feel it. May Heaven bless her,” said 
Ned, choking down the emotion that would rise up 
from his heart, in despite of all the philosophy that 
came down from his head. 

This incident brought no change to the household 
save that Ned insisted that Maud should spend more 


2o6 


MAUD MORTON. 


time with Edgar ; even now he^hardly dared to think 
of him as her husband. 

Maud’s marriage had been so quietly arranged 
that the outside world was kept in complete ignor- 
ance of it. 

After meeting Maud, Mr. Moore and his wife were 
so charmed with the beauty of her person and char- 
acter that they would have approved of their son’s ; 
choice, even had no accident befallen him; but, I 
under the circumstances, the marriage was arranged ' 
in the hope that her presence and knowledge of pos- 
session, acting on his mind, would react beneficially 
on his shattered nervous organization. 

Poor fellow! the accident that deprived him of 
every physical power but speech lifted him into the 
realms ot the heroic, for he was crushed in stopping 
a runaway team that otherwise would have dashed 
the occupants of the carriage to death. 

It seemed from the first that this strange yet most 
reasonable marriage was to prove more beneficial 
to the wounded youth than all the skill of the doc- 
tors. 

He began to rally from the hour she came to him 
at his mother’s request. 

And the doctors — who among themselves had 
reached the conclusion that, no matter how long 
Edgar might live, he never could move his limbs > 
again — were surprised to find him propped up in : 
bed, and writing with his left hand. | 

Edgar Moore’s education and surroundings were | 


ANOTHER CHANGE. 


207 


all calculated to make him selfish ; and it must be 
confessed he was selfish, and had been that most dis- 
agreeable of all human things — ^^a spoiled child.” 

But he must have been naturally noble, else the 
accident — which would have crushed the spirits of 
most young men — could not have lifted him up till 
his better self was revealed in all its thoughtful man- 
liness. 

With you to live for,” he would say to Maud, 
after she had been reading to him, or after she had 
come up from the parlor — not so far away but her 
playing and singing could reach his ears through all 
the open doors — ‘'with you to live for, I must be 
strong again. But if the worst should come, my 
darling, I can say with Schiller’s Thekla: 

‘ I have known all the happiness earth has for me ; 

'Tis the bliss of my living and loving.’ ” 

One evening, while Maud was reading to him, 
Mrs. Moore came into the room, and said : 

“ My dear boy, Mr. Morton has called to see you. 
You know he has sent daily inquiries about you. Do 
you feel strong enough ? ” 

“Oh, I am quite strong enough,” said Edgar; 
“and even if I were not, I should like to see Mr. 
Morton. Maud, my love, perhaps it would be better 
if you went to mother’s room.” 

“Yet I should prefer to stay,” said Maud. 

“ Then,” said Edgar, with a pleased smile, “ I should 
prefer to have you stay.” 

Donald Morton, purple-faced, and with as light a 


2o8 


- MAUD MORTON. 


step as a man of his bulk could make, came up the i 
stairs and entered Edgar’s room. i 

He did not see Maud, though he might easily have 
done so had not his eyes been centered on the pale 
youth whose face was turned toward him. 

Ah, my poor fellow, I am sorry to see you in this 
way,” said Morton, reaching out his hand. ; 

‘^You see I cannot take your hand, Mr. Morton. 

I am very helpless. Pray sit down, for I want to ^ 
have a chat with you.” i 

* Morton sat down with his back to Maud, whom he i 
caught a glimpse of, and he, no doubt, thought her a ■ 
servant, for he at once began to assure Edgar of his f 
high regard, and to repeat again and again his pro- : 
found regret at the great calamity that had befallen . 
his dear young friend. 

Edgar was too well bred to show this man the 
contempt in which he held him, and too sincere to 
give him the impression that this visit afforded him 
any pleasure. 

Edgar also saw, and in view of what he was going 
to say it amused him greatly, that Morton was una- 5 
ware of Maud’s presence. j 

After the usual questions about the accident, and 
the usual wondering that he was not killed outright, ] 
and the usual hopes that he would be as strong as J 
ever very soon, Mr. Morton asked : 

'‘Do you know what has become of that fellow 
Rand, and his sister ? ” 

"Yes, I think 1 do,” said Edgar, with a smile that 


ANOTHER CHANGE. 


209 


puzzled Morton. And, by the way, I am very 
glad you spoke about Mr. Rand. You remember 
you wanted me to foreclose the mortgage you held 
on his cottage.’' 

do ; but your injury forced me to give the case 
to another lawyer. Rand had every opportunity to 
pay me the balance, but the truth is that though on 
the surface the fellow seemed all well enough, he was 
not to be trusted." 

“Yet, if I had not been hurt, I should have had 
the mortgage taken by a friend, and so saved the 
poor fellow over three thousand dollars, which he 
had saved and paid you. No, Mr. Morton, you can 
never make me believe that you treated that young 
man right." 

“I had the law on my side," said Morton, at a loss 
to understand the change that had come over the 
young attorney. 

“Very true ; but you know, and I know, that some 
of the vilest crimes — the most barefaced and inhuman 
robberies — are committed under cover of the law. 
I shall continue to think that your treatment of Mr. 
Rand is of this class," said Edgar, a pink flush com- 
ing to his pale cheeks to prove the indignation he 
still felt. 

Morton coughed, and his face seemed to swell and 
grow redder; but he managed to control his voice 
as he said : 

“You are young and generous, and do not know 
these people as 1 do." 


210 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘'What people?'’ 

“Rand, and the young woman he calls his sister. 
But she is no sister of his ; she’s a creature that Rand 
picked out of the gutter; and, if the truth were 
known, she is or ought to be — " 

“To be what?" asked Edgar, seeing the other 
hesitate. 

“ Rand’s wife," stammered Morton. 

“How could she be Rand’s wife and mine too? 
Maud, my love, come forward and put this wretch 
to the blush! ’’ cried the indignant Edgar. 

And Maud, with the grace and hauteur of an 
angered princess, faced the man who had just slan- 
dered Ned. 


A NEW FIRM. 


211 


CHAPTER XXVL 

A NEW FIRM. 

It is folly to attempt a description of the inde- 
scribable. 

Donald Morton, utterly dumbfounded and con- 
fused, had still enough sense left to lead him from 
the presence of the afflicted youth and his beautiful 
wife. 

He left the room without saying a word ; and, 
finding his hat in the hall, he hurried out with the 
feeling of a sneak who hears the cry of Police ! 
behind him. 

His carriage was waiting for him at the door, and 
he leaped in. 

He was in the act of banging the door shut, when 
he felt it held back, and looking up, he saw Chiswick 
before him, with a scornful smile on his thin lips. 

What the devil do you want?” demanded Mor- 
ton. 

I w’ant to talk with you, and I can do it as well 
riding as in any other way. I prefer a back seat.” 

As Chiswick spoke, he sprang into the carriage, 
took a seat beside Morton, and closed the door. 

^'Get out, you impudent dog,” thundered Morton, 
‘‘or I’ll call the police ! ” 


212 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘‘Call the police, my dear sir; or, better still, drive 
me to the police station and have me locked up. 
But before doing so, think of the consequences to 
yourself. If I go to jail at your hands, I shall return 
the compliment by sending you to the penitentiary,” 
said Chiswick, with the cool maliciousness so peculiar 
to him. 

“Tell me what you want,” said Morton, prudence 
coming to his rescue, for he realized that this young 
man had him in his power, even more than had the 
murdered Coots. 

“ Order your carriage to move on. It will attract 
attention if we sit talking in this way before Mr. 
Moore’s residence. Besides which I want to have a 
good long chat with you at your own house.” 

Seeing that this was the best thing to do under 
the circumstances, Morton ordered the driver to 
take him home. 

When they had reached his house and were sitting 
in the reception-room, Morton said, with a business- 
like air: 

“Now, sir, what have you to say to me? ” 

“A great deal — a very great deal,” replied the 
master of the situation. 

“ And it will end as usual in your begging money ? ” 

“ It will result in my demanding it. I don’t pro- 
pose to beg while I have such claims upon you. 
Why, Mr. Morton,” laughed Chiswick. “ I propose 
that you shall share your fortune with me, just as if 
I was your own dear, affectionate son.” 


A NEW FIRM. 


213 


'"I have no son, sir,” gasped Morton ; and he tried 
to read in the young man’s face the hidden meaning 
he imagined he saw in his words, but without success. 

I didn’t say you had a son ; I simply gave an 
illustration. Heaven has not been very kind to me, 
but the divine wrath might have cursed me with 
j such a father as you, but fortunately I am fatherless ; 

' unfortunately, perhaps, I am motherless. And so 
having only myself to care for, I propose to do it to 
the best of my ability. Isn’t that right ? ” 

Where were you born?” asked Morton, with a 
start. 

'H don’t know.” 

Have you no memory of your parents ? ” 

See here, Mr. Morton, I came to talk about your 
relatives, not about mine ; and I am determined not 
to be diverted from my purpose by any imaginary 
interest of yours in my antecedents,” said Chiswick, 
decisively. 

As he spoke he fumbled in an inside breast-pocket, 
and, after some searching, he brought to light a little 
box which he laid on his knee and covered with his 
hand. Then he continued : 

Coots told me his story — about the manner in 
which you got possession of your brother’s property, 
by driving his poor widow to the grave and hiring 
,him to make away with her child — ” 

Coots lied ! ” exclaimed Morton. 

'‘Well, I thought he did also, so I set to work to 
prove his story ; and I succeeded so well that, with 


214 


MAUD MORTON. 


the papers now in my possession and the contents of 
the little box covered with my hand, 1 can show the 
world what you are and who Maud Rand is.” 

‘‘ Maud Rand is the wife of Edgar Moore,” said 
Morton, anxious to change the conversation. 

On hearing this, Chiswick started and turned a 
deeper olive. 

His thin lips drew back from his even white teeth, 
and an expression of mingled astonishment, hate and 
doubt came into his deep black eyes. At length he 
managed to hiss : 

It is a lie! Why should she marry a man on the 
grave’s brink ? ” 

‘‘You must ask her why. But not an hour ago I 
saw this Maud Rand in Edgar Moore’s room, and 
in her presence he told me that she was his wife,” 
persisted Morton. 

“Better be his wife than Ned Rand’s,” said Chis- 
wick. “ But to come back to my story — I hope you 
are interested.” 

“As much as a man can be in a lie which he has 
heard often before, and which was concocted by a 
thief for the purpose of blackmailing him,” said 
Morton, falling back on his strong line of defense. 

Without seeming to notice the other’s words or 
manner, Chiswick completed his story and then 
added, by way of climax: 

“When Ned Rand took the child from Coots, the 
night he first met her, and the police officer took 
Coots to the station-house, the poor little orphan had 


A NEW FIRM. 


215 


a gold chain about her neck, and to this chain was 
attached a locket, shaped like a heart. The locket 
contained two pictures, which the child said were 
those of her father and mother. The mother’s dead 
face was not what it had been when her picture was 
taken, yet it proved the child’s story — ” 

''Who told you this?” asked Morton. 

" Maud herself. Oh, she may have married Moore 
to secure his property, but I know where her heart 
is. I am her friend, and we understand each other. 
You may smile incredulously, but I can prove my 
words. The chain with its heart of gold was but 
seldom taken from her neck, and never has it been 
in the hands of another for five minutes since it came 
into her possession as a child, yet she shows her faith 
by intrusting it to me,” said Chiswick, opening the 
box and holding up the heart of gold. 

Morton had seen this before, when, ignorant of 
his kinship, he asked Maud Rand to be his wife. 
Still he had so little faith in Chiswick that he asked 
to look at the locket. 

"No, no,” replied Chiswick, "but you can see the 
pictures. Ah, no one would think that handsome, 
frank-looking man was your brother.” 

He opened the lids of the locket, and still keeping 
hold of the chain, he let Morton examine them. 

"I do not recognize either face,” said Morton, toss- 
ing the locket away. " But conceding, for the sake 
of argument, that all you say is true, what do you 
propose to make out of it? ” 


2I6 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘^That's business ; and that is what I have come to ; 
talk about. You have tried to damn my character ’ 
after having failed to take my life, but this I am will- 
ing to forgive, on condition that you take me into 
a full partnership in your business, my interest to be | 
represented by the fortune which your brother left 
in your hands for his wife and child.” 

You are modest, and I must confess I like you 
for it,” said Morton, with his eyes on the young 
man’s strangely fascinating face. i 

I am glad you have learned to appreciate me. j 
What is your answer?” asked Chiswick, as he re- j 
turned the locket and chain to the box and the box * 
to his pocket. 

If I wished to treat you like the crazy 3^outh I | 
once thought you,” said Morton, with a seriousness 
of manner that showed he was in earnest, would 
say ^yes’ at once, and then proceed to get you out i 
ol the way. But the more I see you and the longer 
I think about it, the more convinced I am that I can- 
not get along without you, and that with you I can 
set the world at defiance. Can 3^ou not give me till 
to-morrow night to think about it ? In the mean- 
time, as a proof of my sincerity, I will take you 
down to my bank and place ten thousand dollars to 
your credit. What do you say ? ” 

I say yes,” said Chiswick, taking the other’s hand. 

And so these men came again to an understand- 
ing, each dropping the mask from his face, and ; 
standing revealed in his true character. i 


A NEW FIRM. 


217 


■r 

I 

Chiswick, as he rode down town with Morton, felt 
that he had achieved a great triumph, and for the 
; first time in months Morton breathed easier, for he 
; had made an ally of the man he had most to dread. 

Morton explained, as they approached the bank, 

I his interview with Edgar Moore, and the charge he 
I had himself made against Ned Rand. 

! ^'Chiswick,” he said, “1 intimated that Rand was 
j a scoundrel, and to prove my words true, I would 
spend a third of my fortune. Ah, how I hate him 
and that girl ! ” 

’ '^The girl will never trouble you if you keep your 
word with me,” said Chiswick. “And as to Rand, 

! why, I can arrange it so that he will be in jail — the 
pal of criminals — within the month. You hired old 
Guriy to hunt me down. Oh, don’t deny it. Let 
' us keep on being frank. Now, have Guriy work in 
! with me, and we shall have the whole world in a 
I sling. What do you say to that, Mr. Morton?” 

“ I shall leave the whole affair to you, Chiswick. 
Free me from the things that have been cursing my 
life of late, and 1 shall treat you, not only as my 
partner, but my son.” 

And again the two shook hands, to prove their 
mutual understanding. 


2i8 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

DONALD Morton’s wife. 

It may seem very strange, if not highly improba- 
ble, that two men who knew each other so well, and 
had been so false to each other in the past, should 
have changed from bitter opponents to strong and , 
trustful allies. 

It is for us to state the fact, not to explain the 
reason ; but it is very certain that, from this time on, 
Chiswick and Morton trusted each other, and that 
something like friendship sprang up between them. 

Guriy, when told of what Morton had done with 
Chiswick, declared that the alliance was a stroke of 
genius, and that the three could now face any dan- 
ger that threatened, confident of success. 

One night, about a week after the events narrated 
in the preceding chapter, Morton, Chiswick, and 
Guriy were sitting in the reception room smoking 
and conversing, when their attention was attracted I 
by the loud talking of two women in the hall out- 
side. 

Chiswick recognized one of the voices as belong- 
ing to Mrs. Belton, the housekeeper; but there was 
no reason why he should tremble and listen, with 
protruding eyes, to a sound so familiar. 


DONALD Morton’s wife. 


219 


I came to see him, and I must see him.’* 

“ But he is engaged.” 

Then I can wait till he is disengaged.” 

That will not be till late to-night.” 

do not care if it is till to-morrow”’ 

But you have no right to enter the house in this 
way,” said Mrs. Belton, in a loud voice. 

“Right! Pray, who are you?” demanded the 
stranger, with a fierce indignation in her impassioned 
tones. 

“I am Mrs. Belton, Mr. Morton’s housekeeper.” 

“And I am Mrs. Morton— Mr. Donald Morton’s 
wife. I shall stay here till I see him. Do you hear 
me, madam ? ” 

This conversation in the hall could be distinctly 
heard by the three men in the sitting-room. 

Donald Morton rose and went out, closing the 
door quickly behind him. 

“ The same lady is here,” stammered Mrs. Belton, 
when she caught sight of Morton, “and she says she 
must see you.” 

“Where is she?” asked Morton, looking up and 
down the hall. 

“In there,” said Mrs. Belton, pointing to the 
library. 

“ Go up stairs, Mrs. Belton; this woman is insane, 
and it is better that I should see her alone.” 

“Shall 1 call the police, sir? ” 

“ No, no, no ! Please go to your room.” 

Mrs. Belton went to her room ; and Morton, with 


220 


MAUD MORTON. 


an unsteady step, entered the library, where, in the 
center of the room, directly over that part of the 
carpet stained by the blood of the murdered Coots, 
stood the woman who claimed to be his wife. 

As soon as Morton left the reception-room Guriy 
sprang up on tip-toe, and quietly opening the door 
that led into the hall, he whispered : 

The boss has a woman scrape on hand. Ah ! the 
women, the women, dear boy ; there is no living with 
them nor without them.” Then beckoning to Chis- 
wick, Guriy chuckled, ‘^Come, we can have some 
fun listening.” 

Chiswick’s notion of the proprieties did not pre- 
vent his immediate acceptance of this invitation to 
play the eavesdropper. This is what they over- 
heard : 

“ Donald Morton, you see I am here again.” 

'‘I thought, madam, that you had decided to place 
your case in the hands of a lawyer, a certain Mr. 
Guriy ? ” said Morton, who neither asked his visitor 
to sit down nor took a seat himself. 

So I did, sir ; but to my horror, I have learned 
that this Guriy is in your employ and is one of your 
tools — ” 

'' That is false,” interrupted the unblushing Mor- 
ton. '' But there are more lawyers than Guriy in the 
big city of New York; why not employ them?” 

Why does the man in the mids' of the desert die of 
thirst? The wretch Guriy has taken all the money 
1 had,” cried the woman, frantically. 


DONALD MORTOn's WIFE. 


22 1 


I will give you all the money you want if you 
give me a written pledge that you will never bother 
me again/’ said Morton, getting courage from the 
poor woman’s evident distress. 

Villain ! ” she shouted. I am not seeking money 
from you, though that I shall have as a right ; nor 
am I asking to come here as your wife, though my 
right to that I shall also prove.” 

Why, then, are you here ? ” 

I come here from an impulse too holy for you to 
understand. Donald Morton, the long years during 
which you kept me in a mad-house only strengthened 
my sense of the degradations to which you subjected 
me. You forced me away from my child, yet the 
one spark of hope that remained in my heart, the 
one ray of light that brightened the blackness of all 
those years of living death, was the belief that one 
day I should be free again, and that I should find my 
child, my son, and hold him again to the heart you 
have broken.” 

'' I do not understand your raving. I know noth- 
ing about you, and so can know nothing about your 
son. Leave this house/’ said Dbnald Morton, point- 
ing to the door. 

I shall leave, and I shall promise never to see 
you again,” cried the poor woman, as she clasped her 
thin white hands and raised them above her head, 
if you will only tell me where I can find my child 
— our son.” 

You say that you have been released from an in- 


222 


MAUD MORTON. 


sane asylum ; now if you do not wish to return there 
you will leave this house and cease to annoy me in 
future.” 

Do you mean that, sir ? ” 

I do.” 

Think better of it, Donald Morton,” she said, in 
a freezing tone. ^‘Oftentimes I have wondered 
whether I was sane or insane, living or dead ; but I 
have always come back to a realization of the life 
you have blasted by falling on my knees and cursing 
you. And in my prayers for a champion by day, 
and in my dreams of an avenger by night, I have 
seen my son, the slayer of his father, the avenger of 
his mother’s wrongs. I shall go out into the dark- 
ness to-night — all time is alike dark to me now. And 
you will go on feeling secure in the strength of your 
wealth and the fidelity of your tools. But know 
this, Donald Morton, that as surely as God’s sun will 
rise to-morrow, there is a Nemesis on your track 
that, in the not distant future, will strip you of your 
gilding and hold you up in all your moral hideous- 
ness to the execration of a horrified world.” 

When the woman ’ceased speaking she let fall her 
veil, and the room seemed to grow suddenly darker 
for the absence of her flashing black eyes. 

Donald Morton had staggered against a bookcase, 
and as she swept past him and into the hall she drew 
her skirts aside lest they might touch his hated per- 
son. 

“ I have had quite an adventure with an insane 


DONALD Morton’s wife. 


223 


woman who imagines she is my wife,” said Morton, 
on re-entering the room where Guriy and Chiswick 
sat, looking as if they had not overheard one word 
of the very strange interview in the library. 

‘Mt’s an old dodge,” said Guriy. Why, there 
ain’t a rich, middle-aged bachelor in the city that 
hasn’t had just such an experience. Read the papers 
and you’ll see that every time a rich old bachelor 
dies, some woman pops up in black and claims to be 
his wife; and to avoid a scandal and a lawsuit, the 
true heirs generally buy her off. But you are not 
dead yet by a long chalk;” and Guriy laughed and 
rubbed his hands as if he had said something funny. 

No, but I fear I soon shall be dead, if my true 
friends do not help me to get rid of these annoy- 
ances that are wearing my life out,” said Morton, 
dropping into a chair and lighting a fresh cigar. 

It will be an easy matter to dispose of that 
woman,” said Chiswick, “and if you will leave it to 
me, I will promise you to have her out of the way 
within a week.” 

“Do that,” replied Morton, “and I will make you 
a present of the handsomest turnout that money can 
buy in New York. But let her go. We were talk- 
ing about this fellow Rand when that insane crea- 
ture came in. I said Rand was a scoundrel, and to 
prove my charge I would be willing to give a great 
deal.” 

“ It will be an expensive job,” said Guriy, assum- 
ing his professional manner; “but it can be done.” 


224 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘‘ Why should it be expensive ? ” 

Because men of a certain stripe must be hired 
to go into the job, and such people are high-priced, 
for they’ll have to take big risks. Now, there’s a 
gang that hangs round the Neptune House — Coots’s 
old friends — and they all know Ned Rand, If we 
can keep the affair from Polly Wogley and her 
mother, I know Push will work in, and we can 
win as easy as turning over your hand. But, as I 
said before, it will need money. Don’t you agree 
with me, Chiswick? ” 

‘H do, Mr. Guriy. And had it not been for that 
same Polly Wogley — confound her — I’d have settled 
Ned when I was nursing him. But I know the men 
for the work, and they must be paid.” 

Pay them their price, Chiswick, and come to me 
for all the money you need. There is no use in 
dilly-dallying with this unpleasant and very danger- 
ous work. Let us get it off our hands as soon as 
possible, and then we can live peaceful, upright 
lives.” 

To which sentiments I should like to drink, Mr. 
Morton,” said Guriy. 

Good! ” was the reply; and Morton summoned 
a servant to bring in wine. 

Morton was not a judge of wines, but as all his 
rich friends at the club pretended to be, he thought 
it the proper thing to keep the most expensive 
liquors in his cedar. 

Busy men but rarely make drunkards, but of late 


DONALD Morton’s wife. 


225 


Donald Morton, though busier than usual, sought, 
when alone, the relief that a drunken oblivion 
brings. 

Wine was brought in, and the first bottle vanished 
before the servant was out of hearing. 

Morton touched the bell, and told the man to fetch 
up a half-dozen bottles of the same brand. 

I feel a little out of sorts,” he explained, ‘'and if 
you gentlemen have not other engagements, we can 
make a night of it, and at the same time talk about 
this woman and Ned Rand, though they are in no 
way connected.” 

“ Except,” laughed Guriy, “that they are both in 
the way.” 

Bottle after bottle of the wine was opened and 
poured out. The three men did not sip it, they 
poured it down. 

Hard-headed though all were, the liquor began to 
tell at length, for each man began to reveal the 
peculiar weakness of his own character. 

Morton became bold, boastful, and vulgar. 

Guriy told stories of his success at the bar, and re- 
lated with great gusto his experience with the crimi- 
nal classes. 

Chiswick grew yellower, more reserved, and seem- 
ingly more suspicious, while he showed a strong dis- 
position to combat everything said by the others. 

But the liquor did not blind them to the work 
they had been planning ; indeed, its effect was to 
make them more suggestive and inventive, while it 


226 


MAUD MORTON. 


wholly obliterated that show of moral restraint 
which distinguished their more sober interviews. 

Though virtually in partnership with Morton now, 
Homer Chiswick did not live at the house as for- 
merly. 

He did not dare to do so, for he well knew that the 
new alliance had made no change in Morton’s true 
feelings. 

It was well on toward daylight when Guriy and 
Chiswick left their employer’s house and went to 
their own sleeping-places. 

As the two men stood holding each other’s hands 
at a corner not far from Chiswick’s hotel, Guriy said : 

Let us get this man and woman out of the way, 
and then we’ll be in clover.” 

‘‘So we will,” laughed Chiswick. “And then 
we’ll have the old man all to ourselves. Ha, ha, ha! 
No matter who loses, I amplaying to win.” 


THE CONSPIRACY. 


227 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE CONSPIRACY. 

Blissfully ignorant of the efforts and schemes 
that were being made for his overthrow, Ned Rand 
went on with his work. 

It would hardly be correct to say that he was hap- 
pier under his improved worldly circumstances, for 
comfort and happiness are by no means synony- 
mous. 

By a closer attention to business, if that were pos- 
sible, during the day, and by reading his favorite 
authors, and carrying on his pet studies,’' as he 
called them, at night, Ned sought to keep down the 
thought that came ever uppermost in his mind. 

With his high moral sense he felt that it was wick- 
ed to love Maud as he had been doing. She was 
now the wife of another, and the old feeling must be 
banished forever. 

He knew that friendship often ended in love, and, 
on the principle of a rule's working both ways, he 
reasoned that love could end in friendship. How 
could he, with his generous, simple ways, know that 
there never had been such a case recorded in all the 
history of human emotions ? 

The very effort not to think of her made him think 


228 


MAUD MORTON. 


of her the more. Even in his studies he missed her; 
and in reading his favorite authors, every passage 
they had admired together brought her the more 
vividly before his mind. 

Mrs. Rand tried to take Maud’s place by becom- 
ing more of a companion to her son ; and that he 
appreciated her thoughtful efforts was shown by his 
well-assumed cheerfulness. 

Maud, as was right and proper, now made her 
home with her husband’s family ; and when Ned and 
his mother did not call to see her in the evening she 
called to see them. Nor was Maud any happier 
than Ned under her improved worldly conditions. 

Her present mode of living was in striking con- 
trast with any of her past life which she could bring 
to mind, yet often when riding out with Mrs. Moore 
she recalled the boating trips on the Harlem with 
her noble brother, and secretly sighed for the days 
that were past. 

It must not be imagined from this that she carried 
a heavy yoke, or that she took upon herself the re- 
sponsible duties of a wife without due consideration. 

So far as lay in her power she repaid her invalid 
husband’s love by a loyal devotion and a high sense 
of duty, but in marrying she gave no thought to 
herself, or if she did, it was only to consider the 
effect of her conduct on those she loved. 

It is safe to say that if Ned Rand had been strong 
and prosperous at the time, she would never have 
married Edgar Moore. 


THE CONSPIRACY. 


229 


In addition to her readiness to sacrifice everything 
for Ned, it must be confessed that that strong, deep 
pity which is said to be akin to love revived the 
girlish liking for Edgar Moore, and made her eager 
to lift the black clouds that had fallen on his 
life. 

She knew her own heart better now than before, 
and down deep in its pure depths she tried to bury 
forever the thought that her love had not been given 
with her hand. 

Donald Morton had no place in her mind, for, 
where she could not think well of one, she tried not 
to think at all. Certain it is that she had not the re- 
motest idea of her relationship to or her claims upon 
that man, any more than if he were a native of Pata- 
gonia. 

Perhaps it was as well that she could not see that 
she was herself the central figure in the strange but 
imperfectly understood drama going on about her, 
nor that she was the indirect cause of all the trouble 
that had come to and was about to befall Ned Rand. 

Since Morton had discharged Ned, he tried to ex- 
cuse the act by working himself into the belief that 
the young mechanic wanted only an excuse to be 
his foe. 

Morton knew full well that if Ned suspected the 
truth as to Maud’s antecedents, he would be tireless 
in his efforts to have justice done her, and that his 
own evidence would have great weight in establish- 
ing her claims. 


2^0 


MAUD MORTON. 


If Morton could have killed all those who stood 
in his way, he would not have hesitated a moment, 
provided, always, that it brought no danger to him- 
self. 

But as he could not remove such obstacles in this 
fashion, his plan was to bring upon them such odium 
as would render their evidence worthless in the 
minds of people having a respect for character. 

Chiswick and Guriy were just the men to plan and 
execute this work ; and except furnishing them with 
the money they required, Morton made up his mind 
to hold himself aloof ; for it was essential that he 
should keep his high standing by remaining unknown 
to the agents employed by his lieutenants. 

One evening, about, half-past eight o’clock, while 
Mrs. Rand was sewing in her own room, the girl 
came in and said that Polly Wogley was down 
stairs, and was very anxious to see Ned. 

Polly had been a frequent and always a welcome 
visitor at the house, but this night — an unusual oc- 
currence, by the way — Ned had gone out. 

Tell Polly to come up,’* said Mrs. Rand. 

In a few seconds Polly Wogley rushed into the 
room, her face flushed with the exertion of rapid 
walking, and her honest gray eyes filled with 
anxiety. 

‘'Where is Mr. Rand ?” was Polly’s salutation, as 
she looked eagerly about the room, as if with the 
hope of seeing him. 

“He left after supper,” said Mrs. Rand, rising and 


THE CONSPIRACY. 


23 t 


kissing Polly. But you are in trouble, my child ; 
calm yourself, and tell me if I can help you.’’ 

am in trouble,” said Polly, her voice trembling 
with excitement. Where’s yer son gone ? ” 

“ He did not say, Polly.” 

Did he say when he’d be back ? ” 

'' No. Why do you ask ? 

Because I want to see him. Are you sure he has 
not gone to see Miss Maud? ” 

Polly knew that Maud was now living at Mr. 
Moore’s, but, like nearly all the rest of the world, 
she was ignorant of her marriage to Edgar. 

^Ht is possible that he has gone there,” said Mrs. 
Rand, thoughtfully, for Edgar has had a turn for 
the worse. But why can't I do as’ well as Ned ? ” 
I’m not free to tell you now. Wait, wait, and I’ll 
be back again very soon.” 

Saying this, Polly gathered her shawl about her, 
for it was a cool evening in the early spring, and 
darted from the room. 

Polly Wogley was moved by no ordinary impulse. 
She might have saved herself a long walk by taking 
a street car to Mr. Moore’s house ; but such a vehicle 
was too slow for her purpose. 

She fairly flew along the streets ; and every police- 
man she passed turned and looked after her, debating 
in his own mind whether he ought to pursue and 
arrest her, or leave it to the man on the next beat. 

Polly reached Mr. Moore’s house out of breath, 
but in an increased state of excitement. 


232 


MAUD MORTON. 


Maud was near the door when the servant answer- 
ed the bell, and so she went to Polly at once and led 
her into the parlor. 

Is Mr. Rand here ? were Polly’s first words. 

‘‘ He is not, Polly.” 

Has he been here this evening ? ” 

“No. Why do you ask? ” asked Maud, catching 
the other’s excited manner from force of her sympa- 
thy. 

“ I wanted to find him — to warn him not to go to 
a certain place to-night. There’s a trap set for him. 
Oh, I cannot wait. I must see him before he goes 
there.” 

And Polly wrung her hands and rose to her feet. 

“Before he goes where, Polly ? Tell me all about 
it. You know my interest. You know if any great 
harm were to befall my brother, how I should feel 
it. Calm yourself and tell me all.” 

“ Chiswick, Guriy, and Push, I heard them talking 
at the Neptune House, about dusk. They have 
formed a plan to get Ned Rand into a den of thieves 
— a place where stolen goods are kept ; and when he 
is there, the place will be raided by the police, and 
all but Ned will get off. Oh, I must save him ! ” 
cried Polly, as she hastened to the door. 

“ But wait, Polly. Wait and I will tell Mr. Moore, 
Edgar’s father, and he will be able to assist. If not, 
I must go with you. T cannot stand the suspense,” 
said Maud, now quite as much wrought up as 
Polly. 


THE CONSPIRACY. 


233 


^‘No, no; there is danger to you as well as Ned 
Rand. I don’t understand it, and so I can’t explain 
it; but there is danger. I can go where you would 
be out of place. Leave it to me. God bless you, 
Miss Maud.” 

Polly caught Maud in her arms, kissed her, and 
then darted out before another question could be put. 

The torture of doubt is often worse than the agony 
of direct knowledge. 

The death of a dear one, whose eyes we close for 
the last sleep, may be borne with resignation, if not 
with fortitude, while the fate of a loved one on a 
doomed ship drives the mind to distraction before 
the list of the lost arrives. 

Maud felt as if she were being tortured with her 
hands and feet tied, for she believed that Ned was in 
a danger of which he was ignorant, and to rescue 
him from which she was powerless. 

Edgar was now so weak as to require all her time 
and attention. 

He had rallied, and the doctors felt for a time that 
youth, a good constitution, and the impulse to life 
given by the presence of the gentle Maud would 
stir to vitality the dormant muscles and sleeping 
nerves. But the hope was delusive. 

Patient, uncomplaining, perhaps unsuffering, he 
lay stretched on his bed, every bodily function be- 
yond the control of his will, excepting his power 
over his tongue and the ability to open and close his 
eyes. 


234 


MAUD MORTON. 


Through the latter his brave soul looked out withj 
out flinching. * 

Robbed of every vestige of passion, of worldli 
ness, of what might be called selfishness, his love foil 
Maud now shone out with a beauty that was not of 
earth. He never wearied in telling her of this love. 

It was the anchor that held him to earth. 

It was the light that filled the heaven of his clos- 
ing life with the glories of mountain sunsets and the 
beauties of promises fulfilled. 

Though only a few months had passed since Maud 
became his wife, it seemed to him, as he watched 
her or lay peacefully dreaming of her when she was 
gone, that ages of happiness had passed since she! 
first kissed his cold forehead, and pressed his help- 
less hands in hers, and called him: 

'' My husband ! ’ 

At times his frail life fluttered so close to the nar- 
row line that divides time from eternity, that only 
by an effort of will could he bring himself to realize 
that the angel he had imagined by his side was his 
wife, still in the flesh and full of the beauty of youth 
and devotion. 


CHISWICK AND CURLY MAKE A REPORT. 


235 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

* CHISWICK AND CURLY MAKE A REPORT. 

If happiness consisted of great wealth and the 
ability to gratify every physical want, Donald Mor- 
ton ought to have been a very contented man ; 
whereas we know he was just the reverse. 

To Chiswick and Guriy he pretended to treat 
lightly the demands of the unfortunate woman who 
claimed to be his wife ; but at heart he knew that she 
was all she represented herself to be, and his great 
dread was that the world would come into possession 
of this knowledge. Immediately after the return of 
this woman from the asylum, in which she had been 
so long confined through his instrumentality, Morton 
set on foot an inquiry looking to the discovery of 
the son whom he had sent away with strangers in 
the long ago, and paid so liberally to be rid of. 

Through an English detective agency he learned 
that the doctor’s family into which the child had 
been adopted, had left England some years before 
and was now in America. 

An American detective agency was given the con- 
tract to find the whereabouts of this family in the 
United States, but they had not had time to set 
their machinery in operation. 


236 


MAUD MORTON. 


Donald Morton realized more and more the lone- 
liness, if not the lovelessness of his situation ; and he > 
felt that if he could be brought into communication ■ 
with the son from whom he had been glad to part 
he would make him his heir, if he did not actually 
disclose their relationship. 

Both Chiswick and Guriy believed that the 
woman was Donald Morton’s wife. 

Why,” said the latter to Chiswick — for they talked 
very freely about their employer when not in his 
presence — '‘the woman came to me, and 1 saw 
enough of her case to be sure that she’s Morton’s wife, 
and to know that if the proper lawyer takes hold of 
her case, she can make it hot for the old man.” 

“Do you think there’s any truth in the woman’s 
story about a child ? ” asked Chiswick. 

“Not the slightest doubt in the world about it. 
Oh, I tell you when a woman’s parted from her child 
in that way, she hangs on through life to the hope of 
seeing it again. The more I see of women — and I 
do see a heap of them in my business — the more com 
vinced I am that they are strange creatures, and that 
it’s no use for a man to try and find ’em out. But 
you can bet heavy that there’s a child hid some 
place.” 

“Then you S 3 mipathize with the women? ” 

“Well, yes, Chiswick, I may say I do. You see, 
Tm the tenderest-hearted man that ever lived; that’s 
one reason why I never married and had a wife and 
a lot of children of my own.” 


CHISWICK AND CURLY MAKE A REPORT. 


237 


‘‘Indeed ! ” said Chiswick, in surprise. 

“Yes; I was always afraid that they might die 
first, and I knew I could never stand that. But as 
to this woman, I wish, for Morton’s sake, she could 
be put quietly away,’* said Guriy. 

“She has no money. I don’t see why Morton 
should fear her. You know she is stopping with 
Dr. Kenworthy; the doctor knew her in the past, 
and he’s trying to help her now. I tried to get him 
to send her away, but the old man got so angry that 
1 was glad to apologize for the suggestion and to get 
away with a whole skin;” and Chiswick laughed a 
cold, heartless laugh that revealed all his white teeth 
gleaming between his lips, like a blade half drawn 
from its scabbard. 

The foregoing conversation is needed to show the 
utter heartlessness of these two men ; it will also give 
an idea of the cool, business-like way in which they 
looked at the nefarious business they had on hand. 

Dr. Kenworthy had been Morton’s physician for 
many years, without ever becoming his friend. He 
had suspected him of much evil doing, but it was 
his business to attend to the man’s physical ills with- 
out any care for his moral character. 

The coming of Mrs. Morton, however, roused the 
old doctor to action, and without telling her or any 
one else of his purpose, he set about righting her 
wrongs, if she had any, and bringing Donald Mor- 
ton to justice if he deserved it. 

Donald Morton sat in his own room one midnight. 


238 


MAUD MORTON. 


about a month after the time when he had formed a 
compact with Chiswick and Guriy for the ruin of 
Ned Rand. 

He had told Mrs. Belton to go to bed, and that he 
would himself sit up, as he expected dispatches of 
importance about midnight. 

It was after midnight, nearly two o'clock in the 
morning, indeed, when he was awakened from a doze 
by hearing the front door bell. 

He ran down, turned higher the light in the hall, and 
as he admitted Chiswick and Guriy, he eagerly asked: 

What news ? " 

‘‘Good news," said Guriy. 

“Got him ? " 

“ Yes." 

“ All worked well ? " 

“ Like a charm." 

“ Let us go inside and talk it over," said Chiswick, 
coming last into the vestibule and closing the door 
behind him. 

“Good! Come to the dining-room. I think we 
shall find a little set-out and a bottle of wine there." 

Donald Morton, with a feeling of great relief, for 
he had been very anxious all the evening, led the way 
to the dining-room, where they found the lights 
turned up and the table set for three. 

“Ha! I’m thirsty," said Guriy, catching sight of 
the bottle. “ Excuse me if I help myself." And he 
poured out a glass of brandy and tossed it off. 

Chiswick and Guriy ate like men coming in hungry 


CHISWICK AND CURLY MAKE A REPORT. 239 

after hard work in the cool night air; but, though 
Morton went through the motions, nothing solid 
passed his lips. 

He watched his lieutenants as if to read in their 
faces the reports of the success which he was shortly 
to hear from their lips. 

Now/’ said Guriy, drawing his coat sleeve across 
his lips, and throwing himself back in his chair with 
a sigh of satisfaction, I feel better, and quite ready 
to talk." 

‘‘And as you love to hear talk when you are your- 
self the speaker, I shall smoke while you make the 
report,'’ said Chiswick, lighting a cigar, and rest- 
ing his chin on his upturned palms. 

“Well,” began Guriy, “1 could sum up the whole 
report in the single sentence: ‘We have succeeded.’ 
But I have often noticed that people are much more 
interested in the details of an important event than 
in the actual results.” 

“Very true; very true,” said Morton. 

“Then to begin at the beginning,” continued Gur- 
iy, as he moistened his lips with a sip of brandy kept 
conveniently at hand, “ we made our rendezvous at 
the Neptune House, and as the spring boating has 
begun, we attracted no attention. I should say that 
our tools attracted no attention, for we were far too 
wise to appear on the surface ourselves.” 

“ We remained out of sight; but like the man that 
works the Punch and Judy puppets, we could be 
found when wanted,” chuckled Chiswick. 


240 


“MAUD MORTON. 


W e knew our people,” continued Guriy. They 
are all men that I’ve defended again and again. ^ 
And, though it may seem like bragging, I can truth- ■ 
fully say that if it hadn’t been for me every man ' 
Jack of them would now be in the Sing Sing Peni- ] 
tentiary. Those are high-priced fellows, Mr. Mor- I 
ton — ” j 

If you spent half the money on them that you i 
got from me,” interrupted Morton, ‘‘they must be ’ 
very high-priced indeed.” 

“We spent every cent,” asserted Chiswick. 

“ Every red,” protested Guriy. “We had to rent ; 
rooms ; then we had to buy, at market price, stolen ^ 
goods of all kinds, and some of the most valuable ! 
goods we had to conceal in the cellar of Ned Rand’s ! 
house. Ha, ha, ha ! very funny that. Burglars ] 
generally enter a house to rid it of silver, jewelry, I 
and other valuables, but our men carried these things j 
into Rand’s cellar, last night, and left them there — ” j 
“Dangerous business that,” said Morton. 1 

“You can bet it was, but our fellows did it safely, j 
Well, after getting our trap fixed, the thing was to \ 
coax the game to walk into it.” I 

“Yes, Guriy, that required skill,” said Morton^ ] 
now very much interested. , ] 

“We had the skill and the patience,” Guriy con- ] 
tinned. “We got Push Wogley interested, though j 
the fellow has a sneaking liking for Rand. We knew j 
that Polly Wogley was sweet on Ned, so we used | 
that as a bait, for he’s a gallant fellow, always ready 


CHISWICK AND CURLY MAKE A REPORT. 


241 


to rush to the aid of folks in distress. We sent a let- 
ter through Push, purporting to come from Polly. 
Chiswick ' got that up in artistic style, spelling as 
natural as life and all that. Well, the letter asked 
Ned to meet Polly at a certain house at nine o’clock 
last night as she wanted his help 'as much,’ the letter 
said, 'as you wanted mine at one time.’ You know 
she’d helped him when he was sick. Ned bit at the 
bait. He was on hand. He was conducted to a 
room where all the goods were stored, and told to 
remain there till Polly came. Of course Polly did 
not come at once, but the officers did. We’d sent 
word to the chief of police ; and so the place was 
raided. Rand was captured, and so was Polly 
Wogley, who, it seems, had reached the place for the 
purpose of warning Ned. She got wind of the plot 
and tried to spoil it; so Pm not at all sorry that she’s 
gone to jail for her impudence.” 

"And Ned Rand is in jail, charged with robbery 
and with having stolen goods in his house, for by 
this time his house has been searched,” said Chis- 
wick, flipping the ashes from his cigar with his little 
finger. 

" Splendid ! splendid ! ” exclaimed Morton, add- 
ing, in a less ardent tone : " But the plan is only 

half carried out.” 

"What do you mean? ■ asked Guriy. 

"I mean that Ned Rand is not yet tried and con- 
victed.” 

"You could hardly expect to have everything 


242 


MAUD MORTON. 


done in one night, Mr. Morton,” said Guriy, in sur. 
prise. 

Of course not. But do you feel sure that he will . 
be convicted ?” 

“As sure, Mr. Morton, as that you sit there. He 
was a companion of the ex-convict Coots. He was 
at Coots’s funeral, as two detectives can prove. He 
has been thick with Coots’s daughter, for they were 
captured in the same fence. Knowing what I do, I 
could clear Rand,” said Guriy, taking another sip of 
brandy, and refilling his glass ; “ but I don’t think 
there’s another lawyer in the world that could do it.” ; 

“ He is as good as in the penitentiary,” added ; 
Chiswick. “ But Fm a little afraid Push won't like it 9 
about his sister. He’s a queer fellow, and I ttiink S 
his head hasn’t been quite right since the death of ' 
his father.” J 

“My friends,” said Morton, beaming from one to ' 
the other, “you have both done well. Rid me now : 
of this woman who persists in calling herself my ^ 
wife, and the future is assured — ” j 

Donald Morton suddenly stopped. i 

A closet door swung open, and the woman in black, ^ 
with her veil thrown back and her dark eyes blazing , 
stood before them. 


A thu:kderbolt. 


243 




CHAPTER XXX. 

i * ATHUNDERBOLT. 

Neither Chiswick nor Guriy would have hesitat- 
ed about making a false report to Donald Morton 
if they imagined that their own ends could be served 
thereby ; but as it happened, they told the exact 
- truth as to the trap that had closed on unsuspecting 
Ned Rand. 

Intent upon helping one who had helped him, and 
as unsuspecting as a child to any danger, Ned Rand 
went to the place mentioned in the forged letter, 
and twenty minutes afterward he was in the hands 
of the police. 

It was useless for him to show the letter that was 
the cause of his coming, or to protest his innocence; 
the police were familiar with such subterfuges. 

He was handcuffed like an old offender, and 
marched off to the station between two officers, 

, while a number of other officers followed, with the 
. miscellaneous plunder found in the room in which 
Ned was surprised and captured. 

At the station-house Ned saw Polly. She, too, 
was a prisoner, and this fact prevented his charging 
her with the treason of which he at first felt she had 
/ been guilty. 


244 


MAUD MORTON. 


‘‘Oh, Mr. Rand,’' cried Polly, when she caught 
sight of him, “too late I learned of the scheme to 
ruin you ; but I tried to save you. God knows I 
tried to save you.” 

“I think you meant right, Polly. But why did 
you send me this letter ?” asked Ned, handing her 
the note appointing the meeting. 

“ I never wrote to you. Before Heaven, that is 
not my work. Wait, wait, and you will see that I 
have been your friend.” 

“I’d advise you two not to talk so loud,” said the 
officer in charge of the station. “Come, I’ll take 
your records, and send you to your cells.” 

Ned and Polly stood up before the desk, and their 
names, ages, places of birth, occupations, and all that 
in police parlance goes to make up the “Blotter 
Record,” was written down, and then they were 
conducted to grated cells, not far apart, yet too far 
removed to hold any communication. 

So unexpected, so humiliating was the blow that 
had been dealt him, that Ned, during the long hours 
of that most cheerless night, was unable to collect 
his thoughts so as to account for his situation. 

He was stunned ; and he felt that he was the vic- 
tim of a horrible nightmare, from which he must 
awake to find himself in his own bed. 

He had been sitting for hours on a hard bench, 
with his head between his hands, when he was roused 
from his stupor by the turning of a key in a lock. 

He looked quickly up, and saw a man opening the 


A THUNDERBOLT. 


245 


grated cell door, while another man stood behind 
him with a basket of broken bread and a tin pail 
surrounded by a lot of tin cups. 

Here’s yer breakfast,” said the man who opened 
the door. 

The other man filled one of the cups with coffee, 
and placing a piece of bread on top of it, he set it 
on the bench beside the prisoner. 

“ I want nothing to eat,” said Ned ; but I will pay 
liberally if I can get writing materials, and a mes- 
senger to carry a note to my mother.” 

^‘You can't write any note or get any message 
here,” said the officer, ^‘You must do all them 
things through your lawyer.” 

‘‘But I haven’t got any lawyer.” 

“I guess you know where to find one,” said the 
officer, and he went off to make his round of the cells. 

Ned did not take further notice of the food. 

He sat down and was brooding again, when he 
heard his name called, and through the bars he saw 
the sallow, foxy face of Guriy peering in. 

“Hello, Friend Rand,” called out the lawyer. 
“ Sorry to hear of your trouble. Read of it in the 
papers not half an hour ago, and cr.me down to 
offer my services. There must be some mistake 
about this.” 

“ I am afraid, sir,” said Ned, who never had any 
liking for this man, “that there is no mistake at all.” 

“ Why, Mr. Rand, what do you mean ? ” asked the 
lawyer, with well-assumed surprise. 


2a6 


MAUD MORTON. 


I mean that I am the victim of a deliberate con- 
spiracy.” 

But who could do it ? You have no enemies?” 
should have none. Now, Mr. — Mr. — ” 

‘‘Mr. Guriy,” prompted the lawyer. 

“Yes, Mr. Guriy. If you want to help me, get 
word to my mother that I am here ; or, better still, 
have some one carry a note to her from me.” 

“ I should be delighted to do that, Mr. Rand, but 
if I act in this matter, it must be in a professional 
way.” 

“ In a professional way ? ” 

“Yes; as your lawyer,” said Guriy. 

Ned hesitated. He reasoned that he must have a 
lawyer^ and while he disliked Guriy as a man, he 
might be able professionally. 

Donald Morton had employed him, and this was 
an evidence that he had skill — at least, that is how 
Ned looked at it. 

“Very well, Mr. Guriy,” he said, “act for me pro- 
fessionally. I do not think you will have much diffi- 
culty in showing that I am entirely innocent of the 
crime charged against me.” 

“I hope not; I hope not, I am sure,” said Guriy, 
making a memorandum in a greasy little book which 
he fished from his pocket. “ One thing is certain, if 
the case goes against you, it won’t be my fault. Now 
keep mum and I’ll come back and talk over matters 
with you before the preliminary hearing, which is set 
down for ten o’clock this morning,” 


A THUNDERBOLT. 


247 


Gurley stood before the grating during this con- 
versation, and as he turned to leave, Ned called 
after him : 

Get word to my mother at once ; and you might 
as well see Polly Wogley before you leave, for I am 
convinced that she is as innocent as myself.” 

You’ll pay for her, Mr. Rand ? ” 

Certainly.” 

''Very well, I shall find her at once.” 

Guriy did not have far to go. From the station- 
house blotter he had already learned the number of 
Polly’s cell ; and as he was more familiar with all the 
passages and cells in that building than the architect 
who planned it, he had no trouble in finding the 
girl. 

He looked through the grating and saw her sit- 
ting down, with folded arms, and a light in her gray 
eyes that showed she had neither been crushed nor 
humiliated by the calamity that had come to her. 

Guriy called to her, and without rising or showing 
any surprise at his presence, she asked : 

"Well, what do 3^ou want? ” 

"To speak with you, Polly.” 

"Speak on.” 

"Come to the bars.” 

" I can hear you here.” 

"I’m Ned Rand’s lawyer, and he wants me to act 
for you. I have come to talk over the case with 
you.” 

" You have, eh ? ” 


248 


MAUD MORTON. 


^'Yes, Polly/' 

^'Then you must take your pains for your payo 
Fm not a fool, Lawyer Guriy." 

‘^You're just the reverse, Polly," he said, coax- 
ingly. 

You can be no lawyer of mine ! " 

I can't ? " 

I say you sha’n’t ! Now leave me ! " 

Polly motioned him away with a gesture of scorn 
and defiance, and the lawyer obeyed her at once. 

As he trotted off he rubbed his nose and looked 
back now and then toward Polly’s cell, wondering 
what she knew that made her so defiant. 

Back and forth, back and forth, Ned Rand paced 
his cell. His watch had been taken from him, with 
all his other valuables, by the officers the night be- 
fore, so that he could not tell the lime. 

It seemed to him that it must be late in the after- 
noon, when an officer again appeared, and this time 
he opened the door and called in a very loud voice : 

^'Rand, come out." 

Ned obeyed ; and he had but just reached the 
cold, gloomy corridor, when he heard a cry some 
distance away. 

Hello, what’s that? asked the officer. 

From the gloom in the direction of the office a 
fair girl, with golden hair, rushed toward Ned. 

My brother ! My brother ! " she cried ; and the 
next instant Maud was clasped to the prisoner’s 
heart 


A THUNDERBOLTo 


249 


“ You here, my sister! ” exclaimed Ned. 

Here, Ned ; here, my brother,” she sobbed, ^‘to 
bear your trials with you, even to the death, and to 
ward off the unmerited disgrace your foes would 
bring upon you.” 


250 


MAUD MORTON, 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

IN COURT. 

All the morning papers contained full and — it 
need not be added — exaggerated and misleading ac- 
counts of the capture of Ned Rand and Polly Wog- 
ley. 

In these reports the poor girl’s character was 
cruelly treated, and Ned Rand vras spoken of as the 
leader of a gang of thieves that had been making 
their headquarters at a boat-house on the Harlem 
river. 

Maud was reading the news to her invalid hus- 
band when her eyes fell on the account of Ned’s 
arrest the night before. 

-She managed to stammer through the report, and 
then, letting the paper fall from her hands, she cried 
out : 

Oh, my brother’s foes pursue him again ! It is 
cruel! It is brutal for journals claiming to be fair 
to speak in this way of the noblest man that lives. 
Oh, what shall I do ? ” 

It is a conspiracy ; and since I have been lying 
so weak and helpless here, I have thought that Mr. 
Morton, for some reason only known to himself, 
wants to crush your brother. Do not give way, 


IN COURT, 


251 


dear Maud. Call my father, and he will see that 
everything is done for Ned. It is impossible that 
injustice should succeed in this case,’’ said Edgar. 

A flush of indignation came to his pale face, and 
he looked sadly down at his thin, helpless hands. 

Mr. Moore was called. 

He had already seen the account of Ned’s arrest, 
and as Maud had told him the object of Polly’s visit 
the night before, he had already associated the two 
events in his mind. 

‘"Father,” said Edgar, with an earnestness that 
flashed in his eyes, “all this is infamous! It is mon- 
strous, and the perpetrators should be exposed to 
the world and punished.” 

“It is terrible,” said Mr. Moore. 

“And,” continued Edgar, “while I do not wish to 
do any man an injustice, I cannot but feel that Mr. 
Donald Morton is at the bottom of all this. You 
must go to the station-house and, for my sake and 
Maud’s, as well as his own, you must see that Mr. 
Rand has the best counsel. Oh, if I could only de- 
fend him, it would be the opportunity of my life. 
But,” he added with a sigh, “that may not be.” 

Mr. Moore felt as his son did about this; and so 
the carriage was ordered ; and when he was ready 
to go to the station, Maud insisted on accompanying 
him. 

If an angel had been sent for his deliverance, Ned 
Rand could not have been more lifted up than he 
was by the coming of M and, in this terrible hour. 


252 


MAUD MORTON. 


The touch of her lips to his cheek appeared to dis- 
pel the odium which he felt had fallen on his good 
name, while the gloom of the station-house vanished 
like the mists from the valley when the morning sun 
looks over the mountains. 

The officers, who saw the meeting between the 
young lady who had come in her carriage and the 
prisoner who had come from his cell, suddenly lost 
their prejudices against the man they had arrested 
the night before, and became prepossessed in his 
favor. 

Wealth lessens guilt in the eyes of many law offi- 
cials. 

There was a telephone at the station-house, and 
through this Mr. Moore, to the additional surprise of 
the officers, summoned the senior member of the 
greatest legal firm in the city — an ex-governor — to 
meet him at the station-house at once. 

Ned, Polly, and other prisoner^ were taken to the 
court-room in that abhorrent vehicle known the 
world over as the Black Maria;” but Maud, who 
saw them when they entered, was at the police court 
to greet them when they were let out. 

Guriy was on hand to defend not only Ned Rand, 
but a number of others who had been arrested for 
crimes varying in heinousness from ‘‘drunk” to 
“murder.” 

Governor Webb, the gentleman for whom Mr. 
Moore had sent, was promptly on hand, and ready 
for business. 


IN COURT. 


253 


He was introduced to Ned and Polly, and as he 
was speaking with them in the court room Guriy 
came up and took part in the conversation. 

‘'See here, my man,” said Governor Webb, ad- 
dressing Guriy as if he were a menial whom he 
wished to hold at arm’s length, " what have you to 
do with this case ? ” 

"I am Rand’s counsel,” replied Guriy. 

"You are? ’’ 

"Yes, lam.” 

"Then, sir, my firm can have nothing to do with 
it.” 

" What do you mean ? ” asked Guriy. 

"I mean, sir,” said the Governor sternly, "that we 
would as soon think of being associated profession- 
ally with the criminals who are your clients as with' 
you.” 

Ned saw at a glance how the matter stood. 

He explained to Governor Webb how he had come 
to engage Guriy, and added : 

"I was desperate, and he would not send word to 
my mother unless 1 employed him as my lawyer.” 

Mrs. Rand had been sent for b}^ Maud, and was 
now with her son. 

" Oh ! ” said Guriy, with assumed indifference, " I 
am not particular; indeed, it isn’t the kind of a case 
I care to take ; so, as I have not yet received any 
retainer, I shall withdraw. But 1 shall watch you 
with interest. Governor Webb.” 

He bowed, smiled, and left; but Governor Webb 


MAUD MORTON. 


~’54 

took no more notice of him than if he had been a 
dog. 

After hearing Polly’s story Governor Webb be- 
came convinced that Ned was the victim of a con- 
spiracy, and he was equally well convinced that it 
would be a most difficult thing to prove to a judge 
and jury that this was the case. 

We must have time to work the puzzle out, said 
the Governor to Mr. Moore. ^‘In the meantime the 
best thing we can do is to try and get the accused 
out on bail.” 

Mr. Moore said for himself — so great was his faith 
in Ned and Polly: 

will go on the bond of both these people to the 
amount of every dollar I own.” 

The members of Ned’s firm, all fine, sensible men, 
had come to the court, and they, with a number of 
wealthy friends, were also ready to go on the bond. 

The judge heard the evidence on which the ac- 
cused had been arrested, and seemed unusually 
grave. 

The only charge against Polly Wogley was that 
she was found in the house, just after entering it, in 
which Ned Rand was arrested. 

Polly was released on a light bail. 

But the evidence against Ned Rand went to show 
that he had associated in the past with bad charac- 
ters, particularly with Coots, ''whom Donald Mor- 
ton had killed in self-defense.” 

The evidence further showed that Rand was ar- 


IN COURT. 


255 


rested in a well-known “fence/’ or place in which 
thieves secreted stolen goods. 

In this place, a valuable lot of miscellaneous arti- 
cles was found by the police, and some of the own- 
ers were ready to swear that they had been stolen 
from them. 

Articles found in the cellar of Ned Rand’s house 
were produced, and the officers who had searched 
there swore to the facts. 

The evidence was the most damaging, and even 
Governor Webb, though he kept his fear to himself 
at the time, could not see how it could be successful- 
ly met in the final trial ; for circumstantial testimony 
is the hardest to combat. 

Guriy heard the proceedings through with evi- 
dent delight, and he chuckled to himself over Gov- 
ernor Webb's perplexity. 

He had not intended to work for Ned’s interests, 
had he been retained — how could he do so ? — yet he 
was elated at his own scheme and the evident con- 
fusion into which it threw the counsel for the defense. 

The justice was forced to ask for a heavy bond, 
in the absence of which Ned Rand must go to jail, 
there to remain till the grand jury had found a true 
bill against him — which they were sure to do — and 
the case came up for a final trial. 

Heavy though the bail was, it was speedily forth- 
coming, to the great disgust of Guriy and the inex- 
pressible disappointment of Chiswick, who had been 
an eager observer of the scene. 


MAUD MORTON. 


256 

Maud and Mr. Moore went home with Ned and 
his mother in the carriage, to the surprise of the 
officers and court officials, who had never seen a man 
charged with robbery and burglary going off in that 
style before. 

Mrs. Rand and Maud wanted Polly to go with 
them, but she said : 

‘‘Not now; I must go home and see Push and 
my mother. Ned Rand got into this trouble by 
meaning to help me, and 1 11 not leave a stone un- 
turned until I ferret the whole affair to the bottom, 
and punish them that's most to blame.’ 

Polly, filled with her purpose, went at once to her 
floating residence on the Harlem, where she explain- 
ed to her mother the cause of her absence the night 
before. 

“ Push is in this, I fear,’' said the mother, sadly. 
“ But we oughtent to blame the poor fellow. He 
broods an’ broods, like one with a great trouble on 
his mind ; an’ he’s done so ever since his father was 
killed. He’s not to blame, Polly, my child, for he’s 
not responsible.” 

“ He has done his own way,” said Polly, angrily, 
“and now he must do mme. Till this Chiswick 
came. Push tried to lead an honest life ; and he made 
as much money as any boatman on the river. His 
mind may be turned, but that is no reason why his 
heart should plan the ruin of an innocent man. But 
he has injured me as well as Ned Rand — me that he 
has always pretended to love so.” 


IN COURT. 


257 


Polly buried her face in her hands and gave way 
to a flood of tears, which her mother tried to check. 

The poor girl had just ceased speaking when Push 
appeared from his own room, his heavy face pallid 
and his eyes afire. 

I still love you, sister,” he cried, ‘‘and I am ready 
to obey you from this time straight on to the end — 
except in one thing. 

“In one thing! ” repeated Polly. “What have I 
ever done to you. Push Wogley, that you shouldn’t 
obey me in everything ? ” 

“Nothing! nothing!” groaned Push. “You’ve 
always been true, an’ square, an’ kind to me ; an’ 
that’s what I’ve alius told him since he first came 
here.” 

“Him! Who’s him?” 

“Chiswick.” 

“So he’s the man that’s led you off, eh ?” she said, 
angrily. 

“No; I can’t say it is; an’ if it was him, I ain’t the 
feller for to go an’ blow on a pal.” 

“Not even if that pal sends yer sister to jail — the 
sister that’s ever been ready to do so much for you? ’ 
broke in Mrs. Wogley. 

“ He didn’t mean for to do that. It was an acci- 
dent.” 

“Then, Push,” said Polly, quickly, “arrestin’ Ned 
Rand wasn’t the least bit of an accident, I suppose?” 

“Oh, no, I don’t think it was,” he responded. 

“ It was a set-up job, eh ? ” 


MAUD MORTON. 


258 


Don’t say any more, Polly, for I ain’t a-goin’ to 
blow. You axin’ me them questions mixes me all up, 
an’ sets my head to reelin’;” and to avoid her inqui- 
ries Push clasped his head and rushed from the 
room. 

‘‘He ain’t been himself since the funeral,” sighed 
Mrs. Wogley, when her son had gone out of hear- 
ing. “An’ so, Polly, my child, we shouldn’t blame 
him, like we might one that was hisself an’ knew all 
the ins an’ outs of what he was a-doin’.” 


A DESPERATE MOVE. 


259 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

A DESPERATE MOVE. 

Mrs. Belton stoutly declared that she did not 
know how the woman who claimed to be Donald 
Morton’s wife came to conceal herself in the 
house. 

But the woman was there and she had overheard 
the talk of the conspirators. 

The truth is that Mrs. Belton, who was a cousin of 
Dr. Kenworthy’s, did secrete the afflicted woman in 
the closet from which she emerged so dramatically ; 
but, surely, we ought to pardon the misrepresenta- 
tion of one whose sympathies were now enlisted on 
the side of justice. 

‘‘Monsters!*’ shrieked the woman, her black eyes 
flashing with scorn and fury. “ I am desperate, and 
I defy you 1 ” 

She strode to the door, not one of the astonished 
men being able to utter a word or to raise his hand 
to stay her. 

Suddenly turning, as if drawn by some unseen 
irresistible force, she pointed a long finger at Chis- 
wick, and asked : 

“ Young man, who are you ? ” 

Taken aback by the question and the woman’s 


26 o 


MAUD MORTON; 


tragic, imperative manner. Homer Chiswick stam- 
mered out his name. 

Are you of this man’s blood ? ' she demanded, 
this time pointing at Morton, who appeared sinking 
into his chair under her withering glance. 

I am not/’ replied Chiswick. 

‘‘Then fly from him as you would fly from the 
plague. He murdered his own son, and he will try 
to murder you as he tried to murder me. Then, 
with greater vigor : 

“ But I live ! I live ! And as surely as a just God 
rules up there she cried, with her blazing eyes 
lifted to the ceiling, “ so surely will justice overtake 
this man, against whose name the Recording Angel 
has written down every sin that humanity is capa- 
ble of.’ 

Again the woman turned, and her light, quick step 
could be heard going down the hall to the front door. 

It was not till the door closed behind her that the 
three men regained anything like selt-possession. 

“Some of the servants are in with this woman,” 
said Morton, with an oath; “and if I can find who 
it is. I’ll make it hot for him or for her, as the case 
may be.’' 

“Better say nothing about it, but watch and 
listen,” said Guriy, again drinking to steady his 
nerves. • 

“ It wouldn’t be a bad idea to buy the woman off,” 
suggested Chiswick, now the coolest by far of the 
three. 


A DESPERATE MOVE. 


261 


“ If 3^ou can buy her off, or rid me of her in any 
other way,’' said Morton, '' I will comply with any 
demand you may make, short of committing suicide, 
damaging my character in the sight of the world, or 
going to the poor-house to end my days.” 

Do you mean it ? ” 

I do, Chiswick,” 

Witness the bargain, Guriy,” said Chiswick, as 
he shook hands with Morton. 

Soon after this the meeting broke up, Chiswick 
and Guriy going to their boarding-houses, and Mor- 
ton going to bed. 

The next night, at an earlier hour, they met in the 
same place to discuss the result of the preliminary 
hearing in Ned Rand’s case. 

Chiswick stayed but a few moments, saying that 
business of great importance required him to be away. 

‘‘Besides which,” he added, addressing Morton, 
“ Guriy is a lawyer, and can tell you how matters 
stand much better than I can.” 

Guriy began at his task at once. 

He was not at all pleased with the proceedings in 
court that morning; but, instead of revealing his 
true feelings, he sought to show Morton how every- 
thing had turned out for the best and that the desired 
end was certain. 

Morton was more than willing to take a rosy view 
of affairs, yet he could not but see that Ned Rand, 
for a man charged with a heinous crime, had de- 
veloped a great deal of strength and influence. 


262 


MAUD MORTON. 


surprised that Mr. Moore was there/' he 

said. 

He was there on account of that girl. Some 
that she’s married to young Moore. Ah, she’s 
lucky! ’’said Guriy. ‘‘The luckiest girl in the city 
and State of New York to-day.” 

“But Moore engaged Governor Webb?” 

“Yes; and Fm glad he did.’' 

“Why so, Guriy? 

“Because Webb knows no more about criminal 
law than a child. I could give him big odds, and 
then discount him. But I have a bold scheme to 
upset Moore, disgust Webb, and floor Maud Rand,” 
said Guriy, with a confident manner. 

“ What is that ? ” asked Morton, sitting straighter 
to show his interest. 

“ Fve told you that this girl, before going to 
Moore’s, had been seen going in and out of a certain 
pawn shop?” 

“Yes; you and Chiswick told me that.” 

“ That pawnbroker is my friend and will do as I 
say — if 1 make it worth his while.” 

“ What of that? ” 

“There is this of it, Mr. Morton. I know one of 
Moore’s servants, a footman. I saved him from the 
penitentiary years ago, and I could drive him from 
his place if I wanted to. Well, this fellow must 
pick up some of Mrs. Moore’s jewelry and a lot of 
the plate. He’ll give them to me ; Fll give them to 
the pawnbroker ; and when the robbery is discovered 


A DESPERATE MOVE. 


263 


— which can be arranged to take place at once — the 
pawn-man will be ready to swear that he gave Maud 
Rand, or Moore, or whatever her name is, money on 
these articles; that she pawned them under an 
assumed name, and that she has the tickets. Why, 
it would work like a charm, for the man told me that 
one day, when the young lady was about to enter 
his shop, Mrs. Moore appeared in a carriage and 
carried her off. All this will go to confirm the 
charges against Ned Rand, and it will kill his char- 
acter before the trial if he had a hundred times as 
many friends.” And Guriy rubbed his hands and 
fairly beamed on his employer. 

Your contract is to help me in any and everyway 
in this matter, and I expect you to do it,” said Mor- 
ton, striking the table with his fist. We must make 
a bold move ! W e must stop at nothing ! Can’t you 
see that ruin follows failure? Succeed, and you will 
be a rich man. Fail, and, by all that’s sacred. I’ll 
bring ruin on all who pretended to help me and 
didn’t. Work, man; work! There is no time to 
lose!” And with bulging eyes and a flushed face 
Morton began pacing the room. 

Declaring that he would not leave a stone unturned 
to win, and that success was as certain as that to- 
morrow’s sun would rise, Guriy left the house. 

He had been gone but a few minutes when Chis- 
wick came back again, this time in great haste. 

In repW to Morton’s question he said: 

I met that woman at Dr. Kenworthy ’s and had a 


264 


MAUD MORTON. 


long talk with her, for she seemed to take a great 
fancy to me. While she was gone from the parlor 
to get some papers, which she wanted to show me 
to prove her claim, I hurriedly secreted my watch, 
sleeve buttons, and diamond pin in a satchel she left 
on the table.” 

Why did you do that? ” asked Morton, his mind 
dazed by the ease with which Guriy and Chiswick 
planned and executed fictitious robberies for the 
trapping of other people. 

‘‘We can prove that she was found secreted here 
last night, and then swear out a warrant charging 
her with stealing those things. You will only have 
to swear that the watch is mine, as you made me a 
present of it,” said Chiswick, with a meaning wink. 

“ But I never made you a pres — ” 

“ You must swear that you did. Are we to do all 
the dirty work and you to hold back ? ” said Chis- 
wick, angrily. “ Will you swear to this? Say yes 
or no.” 

“Ye — yes,” stammered Morton. 

“ Good,” exclaimed Chiswick. And on the word, 
he turned and darted out of the house. 

Donald Morton drank a stiff glass of brandy, in 
the hope of calming his mind and steadying his ex- 
cited nerves, then he went to his own room. But it 
was long since he had enjoyed a peaceful sleep, and 
this night proved no exception to the rule. 

By turns he paced his room, or stopped before his 
looking-glass, or to drink from the black bottle on 


A DESPERATE MOVE. 265 

his dressing-case till all its fiery contents were 
gone. 

But the walking brought no fatigue, and the drink- 
ing no oblivion. 

Indeed, his desperate efforts to drown his thoughts 
only served to bring them more vigorously to the 
surface. 

He swore at his thoughts, he swore at his looks, 
and, with profane impartiality, he swore at himself. 

The rattle of milk wagons in the street told that 
the light of another day was coming, when, with- 
out removing his clothes, Donald Morton threw 
himself on the bed, and he looked to be asleep. 

But he rolled, and groaned, and tossed, for sleep 
does not always come as a curtain to shut out the 
waking thoughts. 


266 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A STARTLING REVELATION. 

After the new compact with Donald Morton, 
Chiswick did not return to live with him, as has been 
hitherto shown. 

He had lodgings in a hotel near by, where he 
could be but rarely found ; and he had a room in the 
Neptune House, where he kept his papers and more 
important effects, and where he could meet Push and 
his associates whenever he thought their services 
necessary. 

Scarce a day passed without finding Chiswick at 
' the floating house on the Harlem. 

He kept his room closely locked, for he knew that 
neither Polly nor her mother liked him. Indeed, 
they had ordered him to leave again and again ; and 
it was only the sullen opposition of Push — with whom 
they desired no rupture — that prevented their en- 
forcing their wishes in this matter. 

But a time had come when the clouds must be 
lifted from Push’s sight; for though he had changed 
much since his father’s death, his devotion to his 
mother and sister was increased, and he was more 
than ever ready to defend them. 

Another strange thing in connection with this 


A STARTLING REVELATION. 


267 


young man, in whom the criminal tendencies and 
weakness ot character ot his lather were blended 
with the more sterling qualities of his mother, was 
his idolatrous devotion to Maud Rand. 

He had never exchanged a half dozen words with 
the beautiful girl, nor even dared to meet her 
gaze when he stood in her presence or passed her 
on the river, yet, when alone, he would rhutter her 
name over and over, as if there were music in the 
sound. 

Polly knew of her brother's worship of Maud, 
and she determined to use it to baffle the schemes of 
Chiswick, which she but imperfectly understood. 

A few days after her release from prison, Polly 
made Push take her for a row, and when they were 
out of hearing of every one else, she said to him: 

Do you know. Push, that not only Ned and my- 
self, but Maud also is in danger, an’ you helped put 
her there? ” 

‘^Me — hurt Maud !” exclaimed Push. 

'' Yes, you.” 

‘H wouldn’t let no one else say that to me,” he 
growled. 

An’ I wouldn’t say it to you if it wasn’t true. 
Now don’t get angry at me. Push, but I have want- 
ed to tell you that I never thought that you’d be- 
come Chiswick’s dog, an’ at his biddin’ bite and tear 
them that you once loved,” said Polly. 

‘‘ Pm no one’s dog ! ” snapped Push. '' Prove yer 
words.” 


268 


MAUD MORTON. 


If 1 could only get into Chiswick’s room, over 
there in the boat-house,” she said, waving her hand 
in the direction of their home, I am sure I could 
soon prove my words.” 

^^Then, by , I’ll give you the chance ! ” cried 

Push. 

He seized the oars, placed his feet against the 
braces; and, urged by his skill and immense strength, 
the boat seemed to leap from the water in the direc- 
tion of the Neptune House. 

Polly was alarmed at the expression on her broth- 
er’s face and the unusual impetuosity of his manner, 
yet '‘something told her,” as she explained afterward, 
that "she was on the right track.” 

The instant the boat reached the floating landing, 
Push leaped out and made it fast, then rushed for 
the sitting-room. 

"I can get into that room ! ” he shouted, and he 
dashed toward it, followed by Polly. 

He did not attempt to try lock or bolt, but leap- 
ing against the door like a mad animal, it gave way 
with a crash. 

The apartment contained, in addition to the furni- 
ture, a suit of rowing clothes and a valise, both Chis- 
wick’s property. 

"There ain’t nothin’ in the clothes,” said Push, as 
he felt the empty pockets. "The proof, if there is 
any, must be in this,” he added, picking up the valise 
and breaking the lock as if the fastenings were of 
glass. 


A STARTLING REVELATION. 269 

He turned it upside down on a bunk bed, and there 
rolled out several bundles of neatly tied papers, and 
two tissue paper parcels that broke apart, revealing 
two distinct chains and two hearts of gold. 

‘'One of them’s the one Miss Maud uster wear,” 
cried Polly, as she picked up the lockets ; “ an’ the 
other — the other’s a imitation. Chiswick stole this 
from her when he was pretendin’ to nuss Ned. Oh ! 
he’d have killed him if it hadn’t been for my 
dream ! ” 

“ An’ Chiswick stole that from her ? ” 

“Yes, Push. Why, Miss Maud’s showed it to me 
again and again. See, here’s the pictures of her 
father an’ mother,” said Polly, springing open the 
lids. 

“That proves that Chiswick’s a thief ; but Iknow’d 
that, though I didn’t think he’d steal from her. Now, 
wh'ere’s the proof of his prosecutin’ folks ? ” 

“In these papers. Push,” replied Polly, at a ven- 
ture. “Come to my room, where I can read ’em 
over, or let us go to Mr. Moore’s or Ned’s an’ ax 
advice.” 

“No, Polly, I’ll not go. You take ’em an’ let me 
know the news. If it’s all as you say, I’ll avenge the 
oath that Chiswick made to my father in that room 
out there, for he’s a traitor.” 

Again the thick lips were compressed till the 
mouth looked like a line, and the small eyes burned 
with a fire that was not lit by reason. 

“Do nothing now. Push, without advising with 


270 


MAUD MORTON. 


me, * said Polly, stroking his shoulder and trying to 
still the tempest she had raised. 

Telling her mother her purpose, Polly put on her 
coat and hat, and, with the papers and the lockets 
and chains in a little market basket, she started for 
Mr. Moore s house, where it was rumored that Ed- 
gar was dying. 

Polly had been gone about twenty minutes, when 
Chiswick entered the boat-house in great haste. 

On the instant he saw the open door of his room 
and Push sitting near by, with his arms folded 
and his head bowed on his breast, as if drunk or 
asleep. 

Hello, Push !” shouted the astonished Chiswick. 
‘‘Who the devil has been in my room ? ” 

“d have,’' said Push, as he looked slowly up at his 
questioner. 

“You?” 

“Yes, me.” 

“ What did you do that for ? Are you drunk ? ” 

“ I ain’t drunk ; but Polly said that the proofs of 
your bein’ a traitor was there ; an’ so I was bound to 
see if she was as right this time as she 'most always 
is,” growled Push. 

With a cry of fear and rage, Chiswick ran into 
the little room, and came back in a moment with the 
valise, wrecked and empty, in his hands. 

“ Who has robbed me ? ” he cried. 

“ Robbed ? Come, Chiswick, nothing of that kind 
about Polly, or, by Death ! Ill catch you in my arms 


A STARTLING REVELATION. 


271 


an’ leap into the Harlem with you an’ hold you 
under till you’re drownded,” said Push, leaping to 
his feet and approaching the other. 

Chiswick saw that his hold on this man was gone 
and that it would be dangerous to cross him further 
in his present mood. 

But he was not the man to sink under one blow. 

I saw your sister hurrying down town, as I came 
here. Where was she going? ” he asked. 

‘‘I think,” replied Push, grimly, ‘‘she was goin’ 
for you.” 

“To what house ? ” 

“Rand’s; mebbe Moore’s.” 

“ That’s all you can tell me ? ” 

“That’s all I will tell you, except this, Chiswick;” 
here Push came over and brought his face close to 
the other’s : “ If I find that you were false to my 
father — to Coots — an’ that you’ve been in with Mor- 
ton all along, instead of goin’ for him as you said 
you’d do, then I’ll keep one side of that oath — ” 

“That oath ? ” gasped Chiswick. 

“The oath you made to my father in this room, 
when he told you all ’bout Morton an’ Maud Rand. 
I heard it all, an’ for the ole man’s sake I’ve give it 
away to nobody, but kep’ it to mysel’. Now leave 
me ; I’m in no humor to be fooled with.” 

Push waved his hand toward the open door, and 
Chiswick darted off in the hope of finding Polly be- 
fore she had communicated her discovery, for in the 
papers she had carried away there was a complete 


MAUD MORTON. 


history of Maud’s case, with all the proof necessary 
to establish her identity. 

If Polly placed those papers in the hands of any 
one who could understand their value — and she 
would be sure to do this — then Morton would be 
exposed, and Chiswick would be shown to be a part- 
ner in a most heinous conspiracy and crime. 

He realized that all his efforts to get Morton into 
his power at the last threatened to condemn himself 
with the same crimes. 

As he hurried along the streets, looking to the 
right and left in the hope of seeing Polly, he was 
stopped by Guriy. 

The criminal lawyer was even more excited than 
Chiswick, for he trembled in voice and form as he 
said : 

‘Ht’s a matter of life and death, Chiswick. You 
must see Dr. Kenworthy at once. His house is near 
here.” 

Why should I see him ? ” 

About that woman you had put in jail a few days 
since.” 

What about her ? ” 

cannot tell you. Don’t ask me,” groaned 
Guriy. 

I have no time to go to the doctor’s now. My 
God, man, Polly Wogley has stolen my papers.” 

‘‘ Still, this is of more importance. Come ! Come ! ” 

And Guriy took Chiswick by the arm and led him 
into Dr. Kenworthy ’s house. 


A STARTLING REVELATION. 273 

Chiswick,” said the old doctor, I have discov- 
ered that you and your father are villains.” 

My father! ” repeated Chiswick. 1 have neither 
father nor mother; that you know.” 

I have discovered both,” cried the doctor. Don- 
ald Morton is your father.” 

‘‘And my mother — my mother ? ” 

“Your mother,” was the awful reply, “ is the un- 
fortunate woman whom your father failed to kill, 
and whom you have sent to jail through your per- 
jured testimony.” 


274 


MAUD MORTON. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

LIFE AND DEATH. 

Doctor Kenworthy was entirely right in the 
representations made to the astonished Chiswick. 

It will be remembered that Donald Morton had 
made great efforts of late to learn the whereabouts 
of his son. 

The young man had come to America ; of this he 
was sure ; and so he employed detectives on this 
side to find the son whom he had so cruelly cast off 
long years before. 

The result of this investigation was that on that 
very morning the detectives perfected all their evi- 
dence and traced all their clews to the end ; and that 
end proved that Homer Chiswick was Donald Mor- 
ton’s son. 

As Dr. Kenworthy, who had befriended the young 
man and introduced him to Donald Morton, was an 
important factor in this investigation, he was among 
the first to learn the news. 

Chiswick was soon convinced of the truth of Dr. 
Kenworthy ’s statement ; and before the overwhelm- 
ing force of newer feelings and stronger thoughts, 
he forgot all about Polly Wogley and the valuable 
documents of which she had despoiled him. 


LIFE AND DEATH. 


275 


We have failed in portraying this remarkable young 
man s character if the reader imagines for a moment 
that he was capable of reriior«?e for the evil he had 
done, or of any resolve to do better in future. 

Yet, it should be said that he was not ignorant of 
the glaring defects in his own character, but he tried 
to excuse them to himself by saying: 

I have never known a mother’s love.”' 

But here was his mother now. The mother who 
had been so cruelly used by Donald Morton ; the 
mother whom he, the son, had deliberately plotted 
against and persecuted at the bidding of his own 
father. 

The thought was horrible. 

I shall confess the truth and free this innocent 
woman ! ' cried Chiswick, when all his doubts were 
vanished. “ But as for Morton, though it results in 
my own immediate ruin, I shall destroy him — so 
help me God ! " 

^‘Then come with me at once,” said Dr. Kenwor- 
thy. Come while your mind is inclined to justice, 
and let it be done without fear — let it be done with- 
out delay, for every moment’s waiting adds to the 
crime.” 

And bear in mind,” said Guriy, as they hurried 
out, ''that I’ve advised Morton from the beginning 
to stick to the truth.’' 

" Don’t lie ! ” hissed Chiswick, adding with an oath : 
" Guriy, you are in all these villanies with me, and 
you must bear your part.” 


276 


MAUD MORTON. 


While Chiswick was having the veil of obscurity 
lifted from his own past, and having the parents 
about whom he had wondered revealed to him, a 
scene even more startling and equally important — 
more important, indeed, to those in whom we are 
most interested — was being enacted at Mr. Moore s 
mansion. 

Thither, with all speed, Polly Wogley had made 
her way ; and the first person she met on entering 
the house was Maud. 

I’ve got him at last ! ” was Polly’s salutation, 
when after kissing Maud she held up the basket. 

Got what, Polly? ” asked the astonished Maud. 

‘‘ Chiswick.” 

I do not understand 3^ou.” 

‘‘Well, I’ll explain.” 

And Polly told all she knew and all she had sus- 
pected about Chiswick. 

This done, she exhibited the contents of the basket, 
and frankly told how she had come by them. 

Maud’s delight at finding the chain and the heart 
of gold was unbounded. 

The second one was an imitation Chiswick had 
made for some undeveloped purpose of his own. 

She kissed it and cried over it, as if it were a 
dear friend from whom she had been long parted. 

“An’ he had a copy of it made,” said Polly, hold- 
ing up the imitation, “ so’s to fool some one ; but he 
got left.” 

Maud, realizing that this was a discovery of the 


LIFE AND DEATH. 


277 


very greatest importance, at once called in Mr. 
Moore. 

When Mr. Moore and his wife heard the story, 
and glanced over the papers, they decided to send 
for Ned Rand and Governor Webb, and to hold a 
conference at once. 

Maud, Mrs. Moore, and Polly went up to Edgar's 
room, while Mr. Moore went out to summon the 
other interested parties to a conference at his house. 

Poor Edgar ! Though the hand of death was on 
him, he brightened up and seemed to gain strength, 
while Polly for the third time told her story. 

Maud exhibited the heart of gold, and Mrs. Moore, 
who had never seen it before, took it in her hands 
and opened the lids, remarking, nervously : 

^^That heart of gold recalls my dear young sister 
Agnes, who married a brother of Donald Morton, 
but who disappeared long years ago with her child." 

She looked at the face of Maud's mother, and a 
cry .of surprise died away on her lips, for she had 
swooned. 

Maud's mother, as it was subsequently proved, 
was Mrs. Moore’s sister and Edgar Moore's aunt. 

Edgar, as soon as his mother was restored to con- 
sciousness, said, as he kissed Maud : 

“I could not love you more if it should be proved 
that you are my cousin. Yet I shall be glad of it, 
for you will be more like a daughter to mother and 
father when — when I am gone." 

Within an hour, Governor Webb and Ned Rand 


278 


MAUD MORTON. 


were at Mr. Moore’s house, and as Edgar was pro- 
foundly interested, and the doctor, who had been 
summoned, did not think the excitement could hurt 
him, it was decided to examine the journals and 
papers in his presence. 

Chiswick had kept a careful journal of all his 
transactions with Coots and Donald Morton. 

He gave Maud’s history as he had learned it from 
the ex-convict, and then, with surprising care, he 
recorded every step in the investigations which he 
began to prove that Maud was Donald Morton’s 
niece and that she had been defrauded by her uncle 
out of the large fortune left by her father. 

Never a lawyer or detective exhibited more skill 
or patience than Chiswick had shown in this. 

In his journal he boldly declared that he had two 
objects in view : first, to destroy Donald Morton by 
showing his true character to the world and bring- 
ing him under the whip of the Jaw ; and, second, to 
marry Maud Rand, who was the right owner of the 
vast estate held in the name of her cruel and un- 
natural uncle. 

Not only this, but in his journal Chiswick explain- 
ed the murder of Coots, and he gave in detail all the 
phases of the infernal conspiracy that had recently 
resulted in the arrest of Ned Rand. 

Ned was asked to explain how Maud came to be 
adopted into his family. 

‘‘For,” said Governor Webb, who, like the others, 
was overwhelmed by this startling evidence, “ Mr. 


LIFE AND DEATH, 


279 


Rand will be the all-important witness in this 
case/' 

Brave, noble Ned ! he had never given a thought 
to the generous and manly features of his own con- 
duct, simply because it would have been impossible 
for him to have acted in any other way. 

In a clear, straightforward manner he told his 
story : 

How he had been working over-hours, and was 
going home one winter’s night — he gave the exact 
date — when the attention of himself and a compan- 
ion named Pipps was attracted by the groaning of 
a poor woman in a doorway. 

He told about the child ; of how he had summoned 
an officer, and how, on his return, he found a man, 
whom he was now assured was Coots, holding the 
child in his arms and trying to take from her neck 
the chain and the heart of gold. 

But it is unnecessary to repeat here facts which 
must still be fresh in the mind of the reader. 

Ned loved the helpless child from the first, and he 
would have adopted her himself, but he was not then 
of age ; as it was, the papers were made out in his 
mother’s name. 

And,” he said in conclusion, ‘^from that time on 
I have loved her with all my heart, and cared for 
her to the best of my ability. And Maud — God 
bless her ! — has paid us back ten thousandfold for 
every act of kindness we have done her.” 

No, no !” cried Maud, starting up and throwing 


28 o 


MAUD MORTON. 


her arms about Ned’s neck, while her tears fell on 
his handsome face, ‘‘ I can never repay you ! Life is 
all too short for me to prove my love for you and 
mother.” 

I feel,” said Edgar, with his paleface turned to 
the group, and a spiritual light in his deep, dark eyes, 
‘'that Heaven has been kind to spare me till this 
day.” 

“I must confess,” said Governor Webb, “that in 
all my practice, and, I may add, in all my reading, 
I never heard of a case so novel and startling as 
this.” 

“It is clear to me,” said Mr. Moore, “that Morton 
is one of the greatest criminals unhung.” 

“It looks that way,” said the lawyer; “and he has 
surrounded himself by tools of the same stamp ; but 
this Chiswick is likely to prove his ruin. Now, with 
your consent, I will take these papers to my office — 
1 have a. good safe there — and with my partners I 
will look them over at once, and we will decide im- 
mediately on the best course to pursue.” 

“ Chiswick an’ Donald Morton an’ Guriy, an’ all 
them thieves an’ conspirators,” said Polly, “ shouldn’t 
be left out of the jail not one day. An’ it’s my can- 
did opinion that, just as soon as you begin to jug 
them, they’ll begin to blow on each other, and in that 
way the whole truth’ll come out.” 

“ Polly, your reasoning in this convinces me of your 
good sense,” said the Governor; “and when the case 
is concluded, I think all will agree that you deserve 


LIFE AND DEATH. 


281 


most of the credit for righting the wronged and 
bringing the criminals to justice.’' 

^‘Ah, I haven’t had a chance to do much,” said 
Polly, blushing. But there is nothing that I 
wouldn’t do to help Miss Maud and Ned Rand.” 

Governor Webb left Mr. Moore’s, and on the way 
to the office he passed Donald Morton, riding furi- 
ously in the opposite direction. 

That very morning Donald Morton had learned 
that his partner in crime was his own son. 

With this revelation it seemed to Donald Morton 
that the bottom had dropped out of all his schemes; 
that the cloak had fallen from his crimes ; and that 
he stood revealed to a scorning world in all the hide- 
ousness of his true character. 

In the carriage which Lawyer Webb passed, Mor- 
ton was hastening to find Guriy. 

He had reputable lawyers who attended to the 
legal matters pertaining to his business and large in- 
vested interests, but he dared not seek their aid in 
assisting him to extricate himself from the meshes 
with which his crimes and his tools had enveloped 
him. 

He was maddened at the thought of failure, fear- 
ful of the consequences of exposure, and beside him- 
self at the recent revelations. 

Never for an instant did he regret the crimes of 
the past ; it was only the miscarriage of his schemes 
that cnt him. 

iid not find Guriy in, and the boy who took 


282 


MAUD MORTON. 


care of Guriy’s office did not know when his em- 
ployer would be in. 

‘‘Tell him to come to this address as soon as he 
can,” said Morton, throwing his card to the boy. 

Then he went down to the carriage and drove 
home. 

On entering the house he asked for Mrs. Belton, 
but she was not in the house — had not been in that 
day. 

“ Where has she gone ? ” he asked of the butler. 

“She’s left for good, sir,” was the reply. “Said as 
how she wasn’t a-comin’ back here no more. And 
her niece, sir, she went with her.” 

Donald Morton cursed Mrs. Belton; said she was 
a traitor ; and then ordered brandy and water. 

He drank enough to have made two ordinary 
men drunk, but the liquor had no more effect on 
him than if it were water, nor did the taste affect 
him any more. 

He went to his own room and lay down on the 
bed. 

He closed his eyes, but even then he did not look 
to be asleep. 

He mentally surveyed all the past, as if hunting for 
the line, the deviation from which made his first 
error. 

As this was the line of rectitude, we may be sure 
he did not find it, for he did not know what rectitude 
was, though he may have known it once. 

Again and again he rose ; went down to the din- 


LIFE AND DEATH. 283 

ing-room and drank ; and again and again he went 
through the action of going to sleep. 

He took a cup of coffee about dark, and dressed 
with his usual care, as if about to go out ; but as he 
was in the act of going down stairs the bell rang, 
and he heard the servant talking to Guriy in the 
hallway. 

^^Why did you not come when I sent for you?’* 
was Morton’s salutation. 

‘‘I couldn’t,” whispered Guriy, stepping into the 
reception-room and turning up the gas. 

Why couldn’t you come ? ” growled Morton. 

^‘Because of the danger.” 

‘^Danger!” 

‘‘Yes; and I shouldn’t be here now.” 

“Why not? ” 

“Because I fear the game’s up.” 

“My God! Guriy, what do you mean?” cried 
Morton. 

“ I mean that Chiswick’s papers are in the hands of 
Rand’s lawyer s — ” 

“And Chiswick ? ” 

“Chiswick has confessed, and his mother is again 
free. Hasn’t he been here ? ” asked Guriy, looking 
about him, as if expecting to see his companion in 
crime. 

“ Curse you ! how could he come if he confessed 
to a crime ? ” shrieked Morton. “ Wouldn’t the offi- 
cers have him?” 

“An officer was detailed to come with him. Oh, 


284 


MAUD MORTON, 


Mr. Morton, in my efforts to befriend you, I have 
been led into errors that I fear will affect my stand, 
ing as a lawyer, if, indeed, my personal freedom is 
not imperiled,’* whined Guriy, who was now thor. 
oughly alarmed. 

‘‘What shall I do?’* asked Donald Morton, des, 
perately. Where can I go to avoid the dangers 
that confront me on every hand ? ’* 

Confess, or, better still, run away and leave me 
to manage your property. With plenty of money, 
I can straighten everything out in a year or two, 
and then — '* 

A violent ringing at the front door-bell prevented 
Guriy from finishing his sentence or developing his 
plans. 

Many steps, and the hoarse murmur of voices in 
the main hall, told that there were a number of men 
coming in. 

As the reception room was occupied, the servant 
conducted the new-comers to the library and lit all 
the gas jets in the great gilded chandelier. 

Dr. Kenworthy, Chiswick, Ned Rand, and four 
officers entered the room ; then Push followed, as if 
he did not belong to the party. 

He slipped into a corner, where, half-hidden by a 
curtain, he fixed his wild eyes on the broad red stain 
that marked the spot on which his father had breath- 
ed out his unfortunate life. 

Gentlemen in the libr’y as wants to see you an* 
Mr. Guriy, sir,** said the servant, holding the recep- 


LIFE AND death. 285 

tion-room door open and speaking in a loud, nervous 
tone that could be heard all over the house. 

''There’s no getting out of it, Morton. We must 
put on a bold front and go in,’' said Guriy. 

Donald Morton did not reply, but with an un- 
steady step and a blanched face he entered the 
library. 

Chiswick, with a look of indescribable hate in his 
black eyes, turned away in scorn, refusing his father’s 
extended hand. 

Donald Morton looked down at the dark stain on 
the floor, and cursed himself for not having had it 
removed. 

And then, drawn by an impulse that he could not 
resist, he gazed at that curtain, behind which he had 
concealed himself to do a murder one night, and 
there he saw the burning eyes of Push Wogley. 

"Donald Morton,” said an officer in citizen’s 
clothes, "it is my duty to arrest you — ” 

"To arrest me ! ” said Morton, staggering back. 

"To arrest you in the name of the commonwealth 
of New York, on the charges of murder, robbery and 
conspiracy,” said the officer, and he placed hand- 
cuffs on Morton’s wrists with the quickness of magic. 

"Who makes those charges ? ” asked Morton. 

"I make them for one,” said Chiswick, coming for- 
ward and standing on the black stain in the middle 
of the room that marked the spot where Coots died. 

The click of a pistol was heard in the corner, and 
every face was turned toward Push, 


286 


MAUD MORTON. 


He stood erect, with an insane glare in his eyes 
and a revolver in his hand. 

Why are you here ? ” gasped Morton. 

‘‘ I am here to keep my father’s oath! You killed 
him, but it was Chiswick that betrayed ! Chiswick 
is your son, and I am Coots’s son ! ” 

A flash, a crash, a groan, and Homer Chiswick 
lay across the black stain with a crimson spot on his 
right temple. 

Push looked at the dying man, then dropped the 
pistol and reaching out his arms for the manacles, 
he said : 

I swore I’d do it, an’ it’s done.” 


HEARTS OF GOLD. 


287 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

HEARTS OF GOLD. 

Five years, if years of joy, soon fly past. 

Let us imagine them as having gone by since the 
death of Homer Chiswick. 

In the meantime the world had learned about all 
Donald Morton's villanies. 

People still talked about the monster’s treatment 
of his brother’s widow and child, and some saw the 
hand of Heaven in the awful retribution that had 
overtaken him. 

His life was exposed through his own son, who 
had inherited wickedness from his father, and who 
had paid the penalty of his treason to the insane son 
of an ex-convict, who was not nearly so bad as his 
employers. 

Push Wogley was tried for the murder of Chis- 
wick, found to be insane, and sent to an asylum^ 
where he still spends the years of a life that is a per- 
fect blank. 

Donald Morton, in the hope of a mercy which he 
had never shown, confessed all his crimes; but jus- 
tice must be satisfied, and he was sent to the peni- 
tentiary for life. 

Shut out from the world, he has ample time to 


288 


MAUD MORTON. 


ponder on his past life and to realize that the way 
of the transgressor is hard. 

Guriy was arrested at the same time as Morton, 
but before his trial succeeded in escaping, and was 
never afterward heard of. 

Polly Wogley, though her devotion to Ned has 
never weakened, married a fine young sailor who 
had long loved her; and taking her mother to live 
with her, she left the Harlem and its floating home, 
and is now the mistress of a flourishing hotel in a 
busy part of the city. 

She has a son named Edward Rand Forman, but 
she calls the boy Ned,’' and the youngster drinks 
from a silver cup presented by his godfather, whose 
Christian name he bears. 

In the settlement of the Morton estate, the widow, 
who had been so cruelly wronged, was given her 
dower by the courts — though Maud’s consent was 
necessary. 

Mrs. Morton still lives with her friend. Dr. Ken- 
worthy, and she has become famous for the deeds of 
charity to which her life is devoted. 

Mrs. Morton shares her wealth with Mrs. Belton 
and her niece, and these two ladies now keep a 
boarding-house in Donald Morton’s old mansion, 
from which the shadows have departed and the 
stains have vanished. 

Edgar Moore lived long enough to see his beauti- 
ful wife restored to all her rights and elevated to 
that social position which her birth entitled her to, 


HEARTS OF GOLD. 289 

but which her marriage to him — her cousin — would 
have given. 

His dying request, whispered in her ear, was : 

Maud, Ned has ever loved you ; I saw this too 
late. You must wed him when I am gone, and may 
Heaven bless you both.” 

And Heaven has answered the prayer of the dy- 
ing youth, for there is not in all this happy land to- 
day a happier man than Ned Rand, nor a happier 
woman than his beautiful wife. 

Mr. and Mrs. Moore gladly consented to the mar- 
riage, the only condition beirig that Maud and Ned, 
and Ned’s noble old mother, should live with them 
henceforth. 

This request was complied with ; and so there 
were those to fill the dead youth’s place, and at the 
same time to keep his dear name in an. ever-fresh 
remembrance. 

There is a younger Edgar and a younger Maud 
in the house, and the hearts of the older people are 
lightened by their beautiful faces and the musical 
laughter, for time has rolled back the years, and 
they live their happy young days over again. 


THE END. 


HER iDOUBIiE LIFE. 

By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 

AUTHOR OP “LADY KILDARE,” “ SUNDERED HEARTS,” “THE BAILIFF’S 
SCHEME,” “THE RIVAL COUSINS,” “THE HOUSE 
OF SECRETS,” ETC., ETC. 

liEOOER lilBRARY, No. I,) 

> Round Voluune, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Ceut§. ) 

Writte?i expressly for tJie New York Ledger. ' 



“ Her Double Life ” is one 
of Mrs. Lewis’s very best 
stories. When it was orig- 
inally published in the New 
York Ledger it was at once 
recognized as a literary pro- 
duction of transcendent mer- 
it, and created a profound 
interest in Mrs. Lewis’s 
succeeding works. 

“Her Double Life” is the 
history of a lovely English 
lady — the Lady Beatrice 
Hasipton — who was obliged 
to conceal her marriage for 
many years, because, through 
the machinations of a fiendish 
schemer, her husband’s life 
would have been in constant 
danger had it been known 
that he was in England, or 
even alive anywhere in the 
world. The incidents which 
occurred in the life of the 
Lady Beatrice, owing to 
her unfortunate situation, 
are among the most thrilling 
ever recorded in the annals 
of biography. 


“ ‘ Her Double Life ’ is one of the best stories of that excel- 
lent writer of romance, Mrs. Harriet Lewis.”— York News. 


“‘Her Double Life’ is an intensely interesting book.”— 
Cincinnati SuJmrhan News. 


“ ‘Her Double Life’ is an exciting story by one of the most 
popular writers on the Ledger staff.”- Francisco Examiner. 


“ ‘ Her Double Life ’ is likely to keep young women awake 
nights unless they finish it before retiring,”— iV'eti; York Herald. 


tJ^^KKOW?^. 

By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, 

AUTHOR OF “THE HIDDEN HAND,” “SELF-MADE,” “WINNING HER 
WAY,” “ ONLY A GIRL’S HEART,” “A DEED WITHOUT 
A N^E,” ETC., ETC. 


liXIDOEJt I.IBRARY, No. 3, 
Paper Cover, 50 Ceuts. 


Round Volume, $1.00. 


Written expressly for 'the New York Ledger. 



“UNKNOWN; or, THE MYS- 
TERY OF RAVEN ROCKS,” is 
oue of Mrs. Southworth’ s 
most characteristic stories. 
The hreadih of the plot, the 
varied scenes through which 
the narrative runs, the tragic 
nature of some of the circum- 
stances, the wdldness and 
grandeur of the mountain 
scenery, the elegance and re- 
finement of the social life de- 
picted, and, above all, the 
beauty, accomplishments and 
daring spirit of the heroine, 
afford Mrs. Southworth abun- 
dant opportunity for the exer- 
cise of those literaiy powers 
which have made her name 
a favorite in all the house- 
holds of the country. 

“Mrs. Southworth’s story of 
* Unknown ; or. The Mys- 
tery OF Raven rocks,’ is 
one of the most interesting 
and thrilling romances of the 
present century. Musa Per- 
cie, the heroine, is about the 
loveliest character ever portrayed by human pen, and the entire work 
hears the stamp of true literary genius.”— C'li/desdaie Fatriot. 


“Any one who writes a real good hook, full of entertainment 
and instruction, deserves the grateful thanks of the communi- 
ty. Such a hook Mrs. Southworth has given us in ‘Unknown ; 
OR, The Mystery of Raven Rocks,’ and we hereby tender her 
our thanks for the same, not only on our own behalf, but also 
on behalf of our wife and children.”— Oa/cj^eW Fioiuxr. 


THE GUNMAKER OF MOSCOW. 

By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., 

AUTHOR OF “ THE STORM SECRET,” ETC., ETC. 

fiEDOER I.1RRARV, No. 3, } 

> Round Volume, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, ^35 Cents. ) 

WHtten expressly for the New Yorh Ledger, 


Over 50,000 copies of tliis wonderfully popular book have been 
sold since September, 1888. 



“Tlie Gumnaker of Moa 
cow ” was written expressly 
for and published originally 
in the l^ew York Ledger m 
1856. 

Over twenty thousand dol- 
lars— a great sum of money 
for those days— was spent in 
advertising it. “The Gun- 
maker ” being a great story, 
and having been thus exten- 
sively advertised, met with 
phenomenal success, and so 
constant has been the de- 
mand for the back numbers 
of the Ledger containing it 
that it has been republished 
three times in the Ledger. 
Kotwithstanding these re- 
publications, the demand 
tor “The Gunmaker” still 
continues. 

“ Few American works of 
fiction have ever enjoyed 
the popularity won by ‘ The 
Gunmaker.’ ''—Boston Cou- 
rier. 

“ ‘ The Gunmaker of Mos- 
cow’ is a tremendously ex- 
citing story .”— Orleans 
Picayune 


‘It is a thrilling and fascinating narrative. Peter of Russia 
figures as the hero of the story, or as one hero, for we cannot ex- 
cept Ruric Nevel, the noble young gunmaker, and with liim we are 
won by the fair Rosabnd, not forgetting the dear old mother of 
Ruric. The story is intensely interesting throughout.”— 

Pacific States. 


“ This story ranks with ‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin ’ in the number of its 
readers. It is one of the happiest memories of childhood of many 
persons now of mature years .”— Yorlc Evening Sun, 



THE HIDDEN HAND. 

By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, 

AUTHOR OF “THE HIDDEN HAND,” “SELF-MADE,” “WINXING HER 
WAY,” “ONLY A GIRL’S HEART,” “A DEED WITHOUT 
A NAME,” ETC., ETC. 

LEDGER I.IBRARY, No. 5, ) 

> Bound Volume, Si. 50. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. > 

Written expressly for the New York Ledger. 


“ The Hidden Hand ; or, 
Capitola the Madcap,” is one 
ot the most popular stories 
ever issued from the press. 
We doubt it, in all the 
realms of literature, there 
has ever been a heroine 
who could vie with the cap- 
tivating madcap Capitola in 
exciting the admiration of 
readers, or in winning and 
keeping their hearts. She is 
so bright, so spirited, so beau- 
tiful, so sagacious, so daunt- 
less, and yet so innocent 
and childlike, that she at 
once takes all readers cap- 
tive and holds them en- 
chained by her fascinations 
clear to last page of the story. 

The way in which Capitola 
outwits, overcomes and cap- 
tures the gigantic and brutal 
robber Black Donald, when 
he had concealed himself in 
her lonely room at the dead of 
night, and chuckled with 
fiendish glee to think he had 
tlie bewitching girl in his 
power, is one of the most thrilling chaiiters in the entire range of 
romantic literature. 

“The most valuable and popular story ever published in the 
l^ew York Ledger was Mrs. Soutliworth’s ‘Hidden Hand.’ So 
great was the demand lor it that it was republished in the 
Ledger three times ! The cry came from everywhere : ‘ Publish 
this great story in book form /’ And now it is published in book 
form, and is eagerly read by tens of thousands of admirers.” — 
Passaic City Herald. 

‘“The Hidden Hand’ is the one story which stands out in 
our memory with perfect distinctness of detail. We read it in 
the New York Acdr/cr when we were seventeen j-ears old, and 
now that it is published in book form we shall read it again, 
and have our children read it also.” — Springfield Courier. 



Any of the foregoing books will be supplied by 
Booksellers and Newsdealers, or will be sent, post- 
age paid, on the receipt of the price. 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 
Corner of William and Spruce sts., New York, 


THE LEDGER FOR 1889. 


Contributors : 







ITIRS. FRANCES HORO- 
SOIV RURIVETT. 
ROBERT EOFli!^ 8TE 
VENSOIV. 

MARA RYEE DAE 
EAS. 

TI10MA8 DUNN ENCJ 
EI8IE 

MARION IIARt.AND. 
JOEE BENTON. 
JOSEPHINE POE 
EARD. 

REV. DR. McCOSlE 


JAMES PARTON. 

MISS PAREOA. 

J U E I AN HAW- 
THORNE. 

MRS. MADEEEINE 
VINTON DAHE€,1REN. 
AMV RANDOEPH. 
€APT. WHITTAKER. 
EMMA AEIEE 
BROWNE. 

ANNA SHEBEDS. 
MAJOR CAEHOEN. 
BISHOP CEARK, 


And many others. 


The New Yorlc Ledger will continue to be The Great 
Family Paper.- Diligent and scrupulous judgment will 
be exercised in providing matter that will bq both en- 
tertaining and instructing — that will elevate the mind 
and purify the heart. 

Our corps of contributors for the coming year is so 
large, and will embrace such a variety of talent, that 
every department will receive the particular attentiou 
of some one competent to do it ample and special justice. 

The facts stated above warrant us, we think, in prom- 
ising our readers a family paper for the year 1889 that 
Avill be sure to give satisfaction to the most fastidious. 


OUR TERMS TO SUBSCRIBERS FOR 1889.— POSTAGE FREE. 


For one year 

For six months. 
For four months 


$3.00 

$1.50 

$ 1.00 


Four copies, $10, which is $2.50 a copy ; eight copies, 
$20, postage free. The party who sends us $20 for a 
club of eight copies, (all sent at one time,) will be en- 
titled to a copy free. Those who get up clubs in their 
respective towns can afterwards add single copies at 
$2.50. When a draft, or money order, or Express money 
order, can conveniently be sent it will be preferred, as it 
will prevent any possibility of the loss of money by 
mail. 

Address all communications to 


EGBERT BONNER'S SONS, Publishers, 

Corner of William and Spruce sts.. New York. 




66 7 



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